


We Were Never There

by themunchking



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Chaebol Drama, Complete - Updating Regularly, Does infidelity count if one person is a robot?, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, Minor parings get screen-time, happy ending not guaranteed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 90,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themunchking/pseuds/themunchking
Summary: The android barely moved when they entered the room. Johnny stared at it openly. It was clear what Park and Kun had meant before—the android had an otherworldly quality to it, something that said immediately it wasn’t human. It was too beautiful, too elegant, too perfect to be human."This is Prototype Ten, just Ten for short."What a beautiful, perfect lie.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Kim Jungwoo, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 68
Kudos: 203





	1. Part I - The Wind Up World

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is _complete_ and made up of four parts, which will update regularly (pending vacation time). 
> 
> Please note the warnings. This is an ensemble fic that contains explicit sexual content, themes of infidelity and betrayal, and potentially major character death. If the potential content of this fic may bother you, send me a DM on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themunchking1) and I can provide more detailed spoilers. 
> 
> I do want to say that JohnTen is the central pairing, but this is an ensemble fic at its heart and the other characters/pairings get extensive screen time.
> 
> Finally, please do not repost or send links to anyone mentioned in this story. At the end of the day, it's fiction, and we're all just trying to have fun.

_I want people to tell stories about the terrible things we did for love._

**_Part I - The Wind-Up World_ **

  
  


**Seoul. 2066.**

It took between fifteen and seventeen minutes everyday for Johnny to travel to and from school. The car that drove him each day operated autonomously and thus allowed for very little variation. The company that developed the software the cars ran on recently announced it would be firing it’s Chief Operating Officer and releasing a complimentary patch because of the two minute flexibility and promised to be more precise in the future. Other competitors were tuning their guarantees down to the second.

The cars drove on elevated roadways, crossing above and below the public tram lines that shuttled average denizens throughout Seoul. Once, there had been an old subway, underground, but that had been replaced with an elevated counterpart as people reached higher and higher in their skyscrapers, until whole lives could be lived without ever stepping foot on solid ground. As cities had become more clogged, like most places, Seoul had grown in the only direction available: up. 

The ground level streets themselves were reserved for the outdated, unwanted, unsavory things like maintenance rigs and motorized scooters that wove between mazes of low-cost, interconnected housing. There had been a focused effort by those in charge of city planning to force everything undesirable to the bottom of the heap, away from the revealing glare of the sun. 

The sheer monumentality of the web of skyscrapers that made up the world Johnny lived in didn’t scare him; how could it, when he’d never seen the bottom? It was the opposite that was true. He was a bird who lived at the top of the canopy—to be lost among the roots was an unimaginable terror. 

Admittedly, cars themselves, even self-driven ones, had themselves become outdated. There were tubes that shot capsules stuffed with commuters like sardine across the city in under a minute. But it was the wealthy who held onto the cars, a kind of romanticized nostalgia. To get around in a car was a sign that one was educated in history, a knowing nod to the past. And to have time to waste was one of the utmost signs of luxury.

It was certainly easy enough to pack small, eight year old Johnny (though it should be said, right on the edge of a remarkable growth-spurt) into a car every morning and send him on his way. 

The ride was not terribly interesting to him, because it was the same thing everyday. The only thing that changed were the advertisements on the side of the buildings, a technicolor smorgasboard that was equal parts hypnotizing and repulsive. Inside the car he was insulated from the incessant drone of the air filters working around the clock to scrub pollution from the air and keep the skies (mostly) smog free. The speakers in the car pumped out endless audio lessons on everything from world history to foreign languages, and Johnny hadn’t yet learned how to duck the parental programming. Though it was more likely than not that ‘Education’ was the default setting and that his parents hadn’t thought—or bothered—to change it. 

Most of the time, Johnny laid down in the backseat and closed his eyes, pretending he was somewhere else. He imagined a world where people lived in the ocean of floating towns and used canoes to visit their neighbors, or a world where time moved quickly up high and slow on the ground, so that by the time his parents in their tower were old and gray, everything below them had hardly budged. Behind his eyelids he saw a world where the trees could speak with each other and when the leaves rustled it was because they were telling secrets. A blustery day meant there was some hot gossip going around. 

There were really only two things Johnny would remember about second grade: first, how soft his teacher’s hands were. She’d had a cosmetic operation done to remove any wrinkles or calluses, so her palm down to her fingers were smooth and creamy. 

Second was that it was the year he saw the androids for the first time. It was a night he would remember perfectly for the rest of his life. 

It began at dinner, with a fight. Or more accurately, with the absence of a fight and a strange, cold silence in the gap. The three Seo’s, their little familial unit, still ate together most nights in a pantomime of a happy family despite the fact that Johnny’s mother and father yelled at each other more than they actually _talked._ Their home in the Seo building encompassed the entire floor and the dining room was the crowning jewel, the champagne walls and hand-painted murals the result of painstaking work from several interior designers working under the hellish direction of Johnny’s mother.

Usually, his mother talked about the gossip among the ladies she did lunch with, and his father talked about the business, Seo Corp, which took priority over everything else going on in the world, up to and including Johnny himself. For his part, Johnny wasn’t supposed to speak unless he was asked a question, but he often couldn’t resist chiming in with a story about what happened at school that day, like that time Olivia Sooyoung brought her hairless cat in, and could _they_ get a cat too? 

_No,_ clearly. Always no. 

But on that night, there was just silence. Just an oppressive tension, icy. 

The fight was inevitable. The intention was there from the beginning—it was in the cruel upturn of Mrs. Seo’s red-painted lips, how she traced a perfectly manicured finger around the rim of her wine glass before downing the rest. 

“Donghyuck is doing well,” she said halfway through the meal, deceptively casual. But the way she said the name made them out to be vile speck of mud on the bottom of her shoe. Johnny furrowed his brow at his mother. It wasn’t a name _he’d_ ever heard before. An uncle, maybe?

His father, on the other hand, looked like he’d been caught in an explosion. It wasn’t in Mrs. Seo’s nature to be merciful, and so she continued. “Yuri? Yuqi? She called earlier looking after you. Seemed to think I was your secretary, how funny is that little thought?” 

“Chaeyoung...” Johnny’s father said carefully, measured. Johnny had seen the two of them fight often enough to know when one was coming on. This was different, though, a guaranteed blockbuster. A burn-the-house-down kind of fight. He gripped his silverware tight in his small fists and tried not to look at either of them. 

“Please, I’m interested to hear, how _is_ Donghyuck? Yumi said he just turned two. It’s a troublesome age. She must need a lot of help. Financial help, perhaps?” In those short few sentences, his mother had expressed more interest in the mysterious Donghyuck than she ever had in Johnny throughout the course of his entire eight years of life. 

Mrs. Seo was not a compassionate person, at least not to her son. She must have been, at some point, rather interesting and lovely, but Johnny never knew her to be. She never tucked him in or woke with him a warm breakfast. Her pregnancy with him had been troubled, only the result of a long and exhausting IVF treatment, though everyone said that it didn’t seem like Chaeyoung Seo wanted children at all, just that her husband’s company needed an heir. Her favorite thing to tell Johnny at night as a bedtime story was how terrible a baby he was, how he cried incessantly, and how she’d just wanted walk out forever and leave him with the Nanny bot. 

Mrs. Seo preferred to treat her son like a window dressing. 

“John, best finish your dinner in your room,” his father told him. Johnny obediently slid off his chair, plate clutched in his hands. His father gave him a half-hearted pat on the head as he passed. 

The fight began as soon as Johnny closed his bedroom door, the high chorus of breaking glass ringing in his ears along with the yelling. It lasted well into the night, far beyond when Johnny finished his dinner and got himself ready for bed. His mother alternated between screaming and crying, ricocheting from one extreme to the other, while his father’s anger simmered until it came to a rolling boil. 

Johnny set his hologram-activated windows to their darkest setting, blocking out the omni-present lights of Seoul below, and settled town to try and sleep. His windows became opaque pools of inky blackness, but what was meant to keep out the light always unsettled Johnny. It made his room too unwelcoming, the shadows too real. Each night Johnny was lulled to sleep each night by a mobile of blue and green patterns moving across the ceiling. 

He could watch videos on his padd with his headphones in, ir he could tap into the ubiquitous online web that allowed people to constantly be connected to one another. But truth be told, none of that was going to make Johnny feel better. None of it kept his interest or made his heart any warmer. 

As much as he tried, he couldn’t block out the sound of the fight. He wanted to go out there and clutch at his father’s pant leg, beg him to calm down, but he was too scared. He was scared of his mother, always, but when his father joined in on the fight he was just as terrifying. 

Sleep wasn’t going to come easily, if at all. 

Instead, Johnny slipped out of bed in his matching pajamas and toed into his slippers. His bedroom door opened silently, not that his parents would have noticed over the noise _they_ were making. Softly, he shuffled to the end of the hall, where a door led to a balcony that wrapped around the penthouse to a spot where Johnny could get at the front door, and from there, the elevator. It was a maneuver he’d done a hundred times in the past, usually whenever an argument whipped up a furor. Wandering about Seo tower was the only way he could calm himself when his parents fought—Johnny knew the halls of the Seo building as well as anyone.

The family had use of their own elevator, of course. The normal ones had retinal scanners and face identification software for security features, but their personal one was programmed to identify members of the Seo family and would only work for them. In a rare moment of oversight, no restriction features had been installed. 

Johnny was a well behaved child. He had to be, as the only son of Seo corp. There were expectations on him. He knew that much, even as eight. But something in the pit of his stomach told him the fight behind him wasn’t just a normal fight, and because of that, what the night necessitated was not normal, either. 

Johnny hit button for the basement level T27. 

Down, down he went. Inside the elevator the ride was perfectly pleasant, of course, but in reality Johnny hurtled thousands of feet in a second before coming to a smooth and natural stop. Seo Tower was a cavernous skyscraper filled with layers and whole ecosystems. The T-level rooms were mazes of gleaming white and transparent glass, research levels reserved for the most proprietary research and the most important figures in the company. Or, of course, anyone named _Seo_. 

Johnny was, of course, not _personally_ supposed to be down there. The basement research levels seemed especially off-limits to him. But that wasn’t so much of a rule as it was an assumption, and their secrecy made them all the more interesting for a child trying to go on an adventure. Johnny was a good son who followed the rules—his night time trips were a precious little secret. 

Against the smooth white tile Johnny’s slippers were totally silent. No alarms started ringing, no guards questioning his presence. At 11:30pm, the lab was empty but for the obedient, autonomous machines going about their tasks. They passed Johnny in the hall without changing course. The only sound at all was the constant droning of machinery, practically white noise. For people like Johnny who had grown up in the heart of modern Seoul, there was no such thing as complete silence. There was always something—some piece of technology chugging along in perpetuity. 

Johnny walked slowly through the white halls, looking into the glass rooms. He resisted the urge to smudge his fingers against their clear surface, to mess it up a bit just because. For the most part the rooms were empty, containing only a single medical bed or strange drawings of engineering plans and anatomies. 

The white halls were not as interesting as crawling under the foliage in the Atrium, Johnny’s favorite night time adventure, but they did have a mysterious quality to them, and were an alluring destination since the first time his father mentioned the floor number when he thought Johnny wasn’t listening. Just as a child _would_ think, it didn’t matter to Johnny that everything he could discover he likely wouldn’t be able to understand. He had a vague notion about what the scientists at Seo Corp did—the business was, after all, all that spouted from his father’s lips. They were a company automating the world. For Johnny, at the epicenter of the industry, the robots his family made were part of the fabric of everyday life.

Seo Corp: wind the world up and watch it go. 

Johnny gradually made his way through the white maze. Curiosity, and a thrill at being somewhere he wasn’t allowed, drove him forward. It was a little game to play and Johnny fashioned himself an explorer. 

He found himself at a room which held a large metal cylinder, twice as tall as Johnny. Though Johnny couldn’t see inside the casing of the cylinder, inside it chugged away obediently. In front of it was a touch-screen control panel, and could it really be Johnny’s fault when the sensors were colored coded in such a tempting way? Slowly, Johnny dragged down the bar labeled _Toggle View_. It was like unwrapping a present, made all the better because this present was a secret. 

The nightmares Johnny tried so desperately to avoid were the only thing that could have prepared him from what the cylinder revealed. It was a person, that Johnny knew, but only the pieces of it. The skin, facial features, hair, so many of the qualities understood to be human had been stripped away until it was only the underlying skeleton and muscle beneath. Or perhaps _stripped away_ was not the correct phrase for it—it was more like that was the only part that had come together yet. 

Inside the cylinder, fine, spider-like tools danced around the figure, gradually adding pieces onto it. A ligament here, cartilage there. It was a part of creation, up close and personal, that felt deeply wrong for any living creature to poke their head into. It was life before life had truly started—or a synthetic mockery of it. 

Johnny did only the most logical thing. For several moments he stood frozen still, shocked and terrified at the image before him, before he turned on his heels and ran shrieking back down the hallway. At once he’d gone from lonely wanderer searching out mysteries to scared child. He was so focused on just _getting away_ that he managed to run straight into the waiting legs of his father, which only served to scare him more. 

“What are you _doing_ down here, John?” His father’s voice was hoarse from the yelling he’d been doing upstairs. He kneeled down and pulled Johnny into a hug, and he stroked his hand carefully through the mused hair on Johnny’s head. With his head tucked over his father’s shoulder Johnny could see two frazzled-looking security guards waiting for them. It seemed like Johnny’s excursion hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he would have liked. The lab must have been equipped with silent motion sensors. Of course—eyes were everywhere.

“D—Dad,” Johnny trembled. “I saw the—the _thing_ —with the bones and the—” 

“Ah,” his father said in understanding. “Let this be a lesson to you, son, that when you look places you ought not to, sometimes you meet unintended consequences.” 

“But what was it?” Johnny asked. By that point they were headed back towards the private Seo elevator. Though Johnny was too old and too tall for it, his father carried him bundled up in his arms. 

“Let me tell you a story about what we do here, John. One day it will all be yours, so I believe it’s fair. What you saw is a little piece of a program we’re calling Neo Culture Technology...” 

-

**Seoul. 2076.**

“Are you nervous, John?” 

Even now, after eighteen years of everyone around him referring to him as Johnny, his father still insisted on calling him John. His father’s voice was rough. It crackled and popped whenever he spoke. Johnny had leafed over the daily report from the Nursing bot that looked over him in the evenings—he’d spent most of the night awake coughing instead of sleeping. Johnny made a mental note to send more reminders about the synthetic lung option. 

“No, not at all” Johnny said, smiling in a way that he hoped exuded collected confidence. His father gripped his shoulder. They were both dressed in pristine black suits, perfectly tailored with micro-adjustments made just that morning. The waiting room outside of the board room was corporate comfortable, with bland, inoffensive upholstery and an impressive view of Seoul. They were only a few floors down from the penthouse Johnny grew up in. As an adult he didn’t live there anymore, but had his own suite elsewhere in the building. 

In some sense his entire life was contained within the Seo building. The purpose of the day’s meeting was to confirm that. 

“Everything is ready sir,” his father’s demure secretary told them. With Johnny just a step behind his father they stepped into the board room, full except for two seats—one at the head of the table, and one just to its right. Johnny passed smoothly through the formal greetings and bowing. He knew, of course, every board member by name, their families, and own businesses. He’d even grown up with the youngest board member, Taeil, only a year older than Johnny and who had recently taken over his own family’s business. 

Once everyone had returned to their seats Johnny stood and bowed deeply to the room at large before, finally, taking the seat to his father’s right for himself. He didn’t have to look to know the older Seo was gazing at him proudly. 

“As you know, we are here today to formally induct my son John into Seo Corp.,” his father began. “This is an exciting time for the company, one where we are right on the edge of unveiling new technology that will open up an entirely new consumer category and transform the personal machine market. For ten years we have worked in developing android prototypes for the Neo Culture Technology initiative, which strives to provide human-like androids to consumers for entertainment and labor. We project that android models will be ready for the market in five to seven years.” 

Excited murmuring raced through the boardroom like a wildfire in brush. When Johnny had first stumbled upon the beginnings of the NCT project as a child it had been a closely-guarded company secret and had remained that way until now, after untold amounts of money poured into research and development. The board had not been patient about it, either, but soon they would see the magnificent proof of Seo Corp.’s labor. Johnny knew that his father wanted the project to be his lasting legacy, and all of that hope was being laid in Johnny’s hands.

“The Neo Culture android technology has the potential to completely transform not just this company, but the entire ecosystem of personal machinery. It _will_ be the premiere, disrupting technology of this decade, and has immense meaning to the future of Seo Corp. Not only Seo Corp., but the world. That is why I am putting it in the hands of the future leadership of this company. Going forward, John will be playing an important role within the NCT department.” 

If anyone had any disagreements, they knew enough to keep it to themselves. In the world of Seo Corp., his father’s word was law. In Johnny’s own world, his father’s word was law. Truthfully, Johnny himself had been surprised when his father gave him the news; he’d spent much of his childhood trying to forget the scare the first Neo Culture prototypes had given him. And now he would be working up close with them for who knew how long. Besides that, Johnny was only eighteen. It had always been expected that he would take his rightful place in the company when he came of age, but internally Johnny had never expected to receive such a huge responsibility so soon. He feared it wouldn’t sit well with his father’s employees. Soon to be _his_ employees, in some sense. 

“I would like to thank my father and the board for this opportunity and support,” Johnny said. His hands were beginning to sweat. From down the table he made brief eye-contact with Taeil, who gave him a small, reassuring smile, unnoticed. “I will make sure the launch of the Neo Culture project is a successful one.” 

Afterwards, Johnny was required to make a respectable amount of small talk with the board members. There was Mr. Choi, a transportation mogel, and Ms. Yoojin, from politics. He considered himself to be an extrovert, but it was nevertheless exhausting. The only face he was truly happy to see was Taeil’s. 

“You did well,” his friend assured him. “They’ll doubt you, of course, but you’ll show them what you can do. If I could do it there’s no doubt you can.”

“Don’t put yourself too down at my expense,” Johnny joked. The two of them had gone to the same prep school together, taken the same accelerated learning courses, and run in the same high-society social circles. During their youth Johnny had always looked up to Taeil and his calm persona. It was a misfortunate that sat heavy with all of them when Taeil’s parents died in an accident abroad, thrusting their only child into an early inheritance of the operations management company and all the baggage that came along with it. Taeil’d accepted it with grace, as he did everything. 

Johnny remembered the funeral vividly—Taeil in all black holding the ornamental box that help the ashes. He’d been as quiet and still as Johnny had ever seen him, and he only broke down afterwards, when Johnny stubbornly followed him back to Taeil’s apartment. He’d cried on Johnny’s shoulder, then, standing right in the middle of the kitchen, and Johnny held him the best he could. Neither had forgotten.

So Johnny was glad to have Taeil with him. He made a good partner and a good friend, things which among their crowd could often be in short supply. 

“When do I get a peek?” Taeil teased. Johnny rolled his eyes. 

“I haven’t even seen the prototypes yet. You know my father just told me about this plan yesterday? I’m supposed to go see them this afternoon.” 

“Rough,” Taeil said, though not like he had any sympathy for Johnny. Which, fair. “Let me know how it goes.” 

A few hours later, formal business wear discarded, Johnny once again found himself traveling down to T27 and the Neo Culture lab. Ever since that day ten years ago, he’d never been back. But now that it was his duty within the company, it was unavoidable. 

It was much the same way he remembered it, all white floors and glass walls, but there was much more activity. The clear rooms were filled with Seo scientists doing one thing or another, and slim robots slid quickly through the halls. The place felt alive instead of ominous. 

Johnny’s meeting was with Park Beom, head of the Neo Culture project. The agenda was that he was supposed to show Johnny around and familiarize him with the program. Johnny found the man’s office easily—it was one of the only rooms without glass walls. Johnny found the man in question inside. He didn’t knock, because he’d been taught by his father that Seo’s did not need to knock. 

Dr. Park Beom was a middle-aged man, short, and round in more than one place. As the company rumor mill told it he still wore glasses instead of getting surgery because he enjoyed the old-fashioned feel of them. A bit of an odd view for someone who ran one of the most advanced research and development departments in all of Korea, but Park Beom was certainly eccentric. He stood hunched over a screen in his office with another figure, a much younger man with light brown, nearly blond hair. Upon Johnny’s entrance they both scrambled to bow. 

“Apologies Mr. Seo, time got away from us,” Park said in all one breath. Johnny waved them off. 

“No need. And Mr. Seo is my father. Please, call me Johnny.” 

“Of course Mr. Johnny,” Park smiled, a bit dazed. Park then gestured suddenly to the third person in the room, as if he’d temporarily forgotten this other person was there. “This is my assistant Qian Kun. He keeps everything in order around here.” 

Johnny thought Kun’s patience must be astounding—nothing Park said or did seemed to bother or perturb him at all. When he shook Johnny’s hand they were steady and his grip strong. Kun was a confident man. “I’m the administrator for R&D,” he said. Though Johnny was new to the company, technically, he knew that assistant and administrator were not exactly synonyms. “I expect we’ll be working together closely. Believe it or not the hardest part of the job isn’t the science; liasoning between the department and the higher management has been the real nightmare.” 

Johnny smiled. “Fortunately for you, office politics happen to be a specialty of mine.” 

Kun gave him a warm smile in return. “I’m glad to have you on board then. Dr. Park? After you.” 

The tour started from Dr. Park’s office and included far more science than Johnny had expected or was able to understand. Clearly, Kun had a stronger science background than he had implied. But from what he gathered (with Kun’s patient explanations) was that the department was in the final stages of the tenth and final prototype android model. After its completion and diagnostics, the team believed they would have the necessary data to create models that could be sold. 

“The human body is complex, but science has been able to break down each of its systems for decades now,” Kun said. “We truly are nature’s masterpieces. But because we’re using synthetic materials, even bio-synthetics, we can cut corners and make adjustments that the human body wouldn’t be able to handle. Ever since I’ve been on the team, oh, three years now, the core problem has been linking the core operating system to the body.” 

“Not the, er, brain?” Johnny asked. His understanding of the android’s software terminology was fuzzy. Did he use human terms? Technology terms? 

“The software core,” Kun corrected, in a way that managed to be both gentle and firm. 

“Oh, the algorithm framework needs some dusting up, but even if the information systems are messy they can still function. You see, the way that the hierarchy of information passes through the systems core means that stimuli still find their way to the correct path without being guided there on rails,” Park said. 

“The software is complicated,” Kun interrupted. “But not impossible. With some practice you could probably come to understand it. But the goal is for the androids to look and behave like humans. There’s a great deal of nuance there. You’ll see.” 

Dr. Park brought them to a room where every inch of the wall was covered in diagrams and photographs of the androids. To Johnny they looked like they’d been pulled out of an anatomy textbook. All ten prototype models were pictured, all in various stages of completeness. 

“They’re all different,” Johnny commented. Park looked him blankly.

“Yes, of course they are,” he said slowly, as if Johnny’s question were completely baffling to him. It was rather condescending. 

“It just seems like an unnecessary waste of resources,” Johnny said. He turned to Kun to see if he had some kind of back up. Kun merely shrugged. Kun was someone who picked and chose his battles, and clearly, this one wasn’t worth it. 

“The directorate is human-like androids. Humans are all different. Maybe we could make some duplicates farther down the line, but I doubt it would work. Life is tricky, Mr. Johnny. The same materials don’t necessarily build the same tower. And for research purposes, we need our androids individualized.” 

“From a consumer perspective, completely unique models could be a strong early selling point,” Kun said diplomatically.

“In the beginning we were far, far too ambitious. It was foolish, really, to think we could ever create androids that were perfect at everything when we don’t make robots now that do that. Our final prototype model is proof that it won’t work. We’ve decided to divide the androids into worker and entertainment classes, give them specialties and so forth.” Park was about to begin what Johnny could sense was a detailed scientific explanations on the androids when Johnny interrupted him. 

“Can I see them?”

“Oh—uh, yes. Of course,” Park said, looking a little peeved. He led them to another long hallway lined with glass testing rooms. The room at the end of the corridor was much larger than the rest, a full lab with a flat cot in the middle. Johnny could see directly into the room. Two researchers wearing the black lab coats of Seo Corp. stood with padds discussing something amongst themselves. On the cot sat a figure, legs dangling over the side. It was a young man, it appeared, dressed in a simple white tunic and pants. He sat totally still, which allowed Johnny to study him even from a distance. Even just his side profile was breathtaking in its beauty. 

Kun smirked at him. “Whatever you expected,” he said, “you’re not ready for this.” 

When they were within twenty feet of the lab the young man turned to look at them, though the researchers inside had yet to notice their approach. Johnny understood then, _really_ understood, that what he was looking at was not a young man at all, but the prototype android. It was in the stillness of its gaze, the blank, analytical way it studied their approach. Slowly, it tilted its head to the side, like a curious bird. 

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathed. Kun stifled a laugh. 

The android barely moved when they entered the room. Johnny stared at it openly. It was clear what Park and Kun had meant before—the android had an otherworldly quality to it, something that said immediately it wasn’t human. It was too beautiful, too elegant, too _perfect_ to be human. 

“This is Prototype Ten, just Ten for short,” Park said with a grand gesture. Ten’s full gaze was on Johnny, its (his?) dark eyes boring holes straight into what felt like Johnny’s soul. The android’s skin was smooth and the shade of warm honey, his perfect bow lips the perfect bitten-red color. 

Ten was enchanting. Johnny was enchant _ed_. 

“Also known as God’s Perfect Creation,” Kun added, a bit wryly. “The researchers are quite proud of him.” 

“He’s listening, right?” Johnny asked, unable to wrench himself away from Ten’s unflinching gaze. But then Ten’s lips twitched briefly into a smile. 

“Of course I am,” Ten said. His voice was of a higher pitch, suitable, Johnny thought, to his slight frame. “I’m on my best behavior for guests.” 

Park watched them, looking quite smug and confident. “You’re one of the very first department outsiders to see the full android. Ten, meet John Seo.” 

In one smooth movement Ten slid off the cot and landed onto the floor (his feet were bare). On the cot he had looked small, but standing he was even shorter than Johnny expected. His build was lithe and beautiful, just like the bird he acted like. Suitably positioned, Ten bowed for Johnny. 

“Good to meet you, Mr. Seo,” Ten said smoothly. 

“No, uh, the pleasure’s mine,” Johnny said. He stuck his hand out for a handshake then abruptly aborted it, realizing that it was probably weird to shake hands with an android. Johnny was used to personal robots and voices that weren’t human—that was everyday life—but faced with Ten he didn’t quite know how to act. The android walked the razor-thin line of _human_ , but just off from center. 

To Johnny’s surprise, Ten let out a light laugh, somewhere between a giggle and a snort. 

“He’s different from you,” Ten told Park. “Funnier.” 

Johnny barked out a laugh. The unexpected joke broke the spell of Ten’s otherworldly persona. He was still undeniably inhuman, but an android that smiled and laughed was an approachable one. Something Johnny could connect with, empathize with. A successful human android would have been interesting enough, but Ten was showing himself to be more than just that by the minute. 

Ten was miles away from that horrifying amalgamation of synthetic muscle and bone Johnny had seen, fittingly, ten years ago. Somehow it had come to pass that the nightmare which haunted him throughout his childhood was standing politely in front of him, cute and curious enough to make Johnny want to blush. Kun was right. He hadn’t been prepared. 

“As you can see,” Park said, rolling his eyes, “the creation of personality has been quite successful. Though it can be altered by changing some pillars of the code. All of the androids can be controlled through wireless systems and verbal commands from authorized people. At the moment our capabilities only allow the software to be changed by physically tapping into the system. Ten, sit.” 

Ten obeyed the command, as he had to, returning to his perch on the cot. He bent his neck down to expose the back of his skull. Johnny could see there a subtle irregularity in the skin, where when Park pressed revealed three cable ports. On a holographic screen Ten’s mind came to life in a constellation of software patterns mimicking human thought. Park ordered Ten to run diagnostics and the swirling mass of pattern and light shifted suddenly, moving in ways only complicated mathematics could properly explain. 

“We’ve used online resources to mass-source life experience,” Park said. “The androids have much better memory capacities and sorting systems than we do. Short and long-term memory have been cut out.” 

“Is everything synthetic or did were the organic materials grown in the lab?” Johnny asked. 

“Synthetic,” Kun answered. “It was an option, but the wear and tear on human-cell organs wouldn’t be optimal for androids. Besides which, the politics could get interesting if we introduced human cells to a consumer android.” 

“However,” Park said thoughtfully. “Because Ten is never leaving the lab... we _could_ replace some of his organs and see—as a research project, of course! Extracurricular. We’d have to add more system functions though that we were able to circumvent with synthetic materials... hmmm...” 

Throughout their conversation, Ten sat still, waiting. Kun and Park were absorbed in their conversation, but for Johnny, Ten was so new, so interesting. He could hardly go a few seconds without his eyes being drawn back in. So Johnny saw how Ten’s eyes flickered around to follow the conversation. He saw how his hands gripped in his lap tightened when they talked about him. Above him. 

“Wait,” Johnny interjected. “You said Ten was never leaving the lab?” 

“Oh yes,” Park said quickly. “He’s a prototype. He’s shown us that perfection isn’t the goal. An android could never pass as a human, but we do need to be more naturalistic so don’t, uh, unnerve the public. Even after the Model 1’s are in rotation he’ll be useful for experiments, but he’ll go into cold storage like the rest.”

How much did Ten know, Johnny wondered, about the outside world? He wasn’t like a child, a completely innocent blank slate. Ten knew his purpose, and that he was inherently different from the humans who worked on him. He’d been given a personality and some information about how the world around him functioned. It seemed unfair, even cruel, that Ten would never see beyond the sterile white of lab N-27. 

Well. Perhaps there was something Johnny could do about that. 

“Can you make me an authorized user?” Johnny asked. “As I will be working with on behave of the department.” 

Both Kun and Park regarded him carefully. “Of course,” Kun said, though he did not sound very sure of it. The two of them were suspicious of Johnny’s request, but then, Johnny wasn’t trying to hide his intentions. There _was_ something he wanted, but it was also a test to see how far his authority went. Park tapped some lines of code into a padd connected to Ten and requested some simple voice commands from Johnny. After Ten reported a successful sync the cables were disconnected and the light show flickered out of existence. 

“Perfect,” Johnny said. He clapped his hands together. “Now, what do you say I take Ten for a stroll?” 

Park choked. A deep furrow appeared in Kun’s brow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? The tech is still top secret and I...” 

“You said you needed help with upper management,” Johnny told Kun. “Don’t worry about them and let me handle it. Dr. Park, wouldn’t you like your android to get a good test-run in? Naturally there will be no need to leave the Seo building.” 

“Well—I, um. Yes. I suppose if you insist, Mr. Johnny. We can set up a parameter for say, a two hour testing period? Yes... Jaewoo, set up a timer, please, yes, I know...” 

With his plan set in motion, Johnny looked back at Ten. Their eyes met, and he thought he could see a twinkle of mischief forming in Ten’s eye. 

-

In the elevator. Ten stood with his body in a perfect straight line, hands clasped in front with his thin wrists bent. The way he stood was one of the clearest signs he wasn’t human. Normal people were restless—they shifted their weight and twiddled their thumbs. The only thing ten moved were his eyes. His eyes were always searching.

Somewhere in the lab they’d found matching white slippers for him to wear. 

“What do you know about the outside world?” Johnny asked. 

“Anything you need me to know. Dr. Park told you I have access to web databases. I can access anything from mathematical formulas to world history.” 

Johnny thought of all the textbooks he’d read in school, all the videos he’d seen on places around the world. 

“Does that really count as _knowing,_ though?” 

Ten paused. Indecision, like a processor working too hard, flickered behind his eyes. “I do not know,” he said quietly. 

“Do you have to be formal like that? There’s no need.” 

“Ok then,” Ten answered. “I’m not sure if it counts as knowing.” 

“Let’s find out,” Johnny grinned. He clasped a hand in on Ten’s shoulder in a friendly manner. He felt real, and a person, under his palm. Ten turned his head to look at the hand like it was a complete mystery to him, like it was the first time anyone had ever touched him in a casual way. Then Johnny realized it probably was. 

When they left the elevator Ten followed just a half-step behind, but Johnny pulled the android up to walk next to him so he could watch his reactions. The upper floors of the tower were far different from the sterile white of the labs below—many of the walls were still glass, but were accented with vibrant splashes of color in the furniture and decorations. Every so often they could catch a glimpse of natural light as they passed by offices. Robots wove gracefully through the foot traffic of office workers, more unique people than Ten had ever seen in his life. No one paid them any mind; most of the staff knew Johnny’s face and they were used to his presence, just as they were used to the appearance of new, strange things appearing in their workspaces. Nothing like Ten, though. There had never been anything like Ten. 

If the NCT project were public knowledge, Johnny would have been worried about ogling, but there were only wisps of rumors flying about. Only the isolated team in the basement and the board knew. That was sure to change but for the moment as long as no one looked at Ten too closely they had nothing to worry about. 

Johnny had a very specific place in mind. There was one location in Seo Tower that nearly every hall led to, and that was the Atrium. It was a huge open chamber that stretched from the main lobby (which, it should be said, was itself not at ground level) up nearly a hundred stories, the balconies of the floor creating overlapping waves. The area was lit in a way that replicated the warmth of natural light. Even employees and residents of other nearby, connected buildings spent time there—it had been made the most pleasant space in the building for a reason. It _was_ a panopticon, however. Eyes were everywhere. 

But the reason Johnny brought Ten to the atrium was not to see all people moving about the hives like bees, but the crowning glory of the space. Up nearly every vertical surface were lush green plants, real ones, living and breathing inside the building. When they entered the Atrium they left the cold corporate sphere and entered into what felt like a genuine breath of fresh air. 

Johnny had never been to a forest outside. This was as close as he ever got. That sentiment, however, was nothing compared to Ten’s reaction. So far, Ten’s reactions had been all micro-expressions. But when he saw the glory of the Atrium his hand flew to his mouth and Johnny heard a breathless “oh.” Johnny led them to the railing of the balcony so Ten could peer over and view it in his entirety. 

Before Johnny knew it Ten hoisted himself up onto his toes and Johnny’s first instinct was to reach out and steady him, fearful Ten would tip right over the edge. But Ten was perfectly balanced, just like how he was standing still. His mouth opened into a small, perfectly shaped ‘o’ as he gazed in wonder at the atrium. Then he broke into a smile of pure, beautiful delight. 

“It’s so beautiful. Are these really plants?” Ten demanded to know. His expression turned to incredulous, even suspicious. In the lab Ten had given hardly any emotion away, to the point where Johnny wondered if he’d been given any. But now he cycled through them at a rapid clip. 

“Yes!” Johnny said, laughing. He felt the urge welling up to touc Ten, to just wrap his around the android’s shoulder. So he did. This time, Ten didn’t look at him with any confusion. He accepted the touch, even leaned into it. 

“There are so many of them. But Dr. Park said we couldn’t leave the building so... we’re still inside?” 

Johnny nodded. “Places like this don’t exist outside, least not in Seoul.” 

Ten raised his hand into the air, neither pointing nor grabbing anything. He stayed still and silent for a moment before declaring, “The air composition is different in here. ” 

“You can tell that just from your hand?” Johnny asked. Ten shrugged. It was a mannerism, Johnny noticed, that he’d picked up from Kun. 

“Sensors on the skin,” he said. And then he was moving again, towards the edge of the balcony, where he could actually touch the plants themselves. Ten stroked an overhanging palm leaf carefully with just the tip of his index finger, almost reverently. For a while then Johnny just watched him, seeing a non-existence lifetime go on before his very eyes. Ten possessed both a childlike sense of amazement and the analytic scrutiny of a scientist. It was his first experience with real plants, but at the same time, he had access to an endless depth of knowledge on them. 

“Pretty amazing, right?” Johnny said, coming to stand behind Ten. Ten craned his neck just so Johnny could see his eye-roll. 

“It’s more than ‘pretty amazing,’” he scoffed. “You just take it for granted.” 

“Well there’s something else I don’t take for granted,” Johnny told him. He tugged on Ten’s upper arm. “There’s more I want to show you—come on.” 

They returned up the elevator and Johnny brought them further up and up, to the levels only the Seo family and esteemed guests were allowed. Beside him Ten practically shook with excitement. They stopped even above the Seo penthouse, which Johnny’s father was certainly filling with the sound of hacking coughs. It was the top-floor observation deck, the place for the best view of Seoul in the entire city. 

At first, Ten’s reaction was nothing at all. He was still, just like he’d been in the lab. But the tremble worked its way up, from his fingers until it reached the slim line of his shoulders and the crown of his head. Wordlessly Ten walked forward until he could press his hand against the glass. Beyond them, higher than any building in view, Seoul was laid out in all its modern glory, the sheer vastness of its complicated layers almost inconceivable. Almost. 

“Are you crying?” Johnny asked. Just as carefully as the question had been asked Ten reached his hand up to touch his face. There were indeed tears staining his cheeks. 

“I didn’t know I could do that,” he said. “Do humans normally cry when they’re happy?” 

Suddenly Johnny had a vivid flashback to when he’d first met Donghyuck many years ago, when Donghyuck was just a little kid, and how his brother—half, but still—had cried when they first hugged. That was the moment when Johnny first thought, _oh, this is what it’s like to have something precious_. 

“Yes,” Johnny told Ten. “We definitely do.” 

“Good.” He looked so terribly lovely when he cried. Ten made no move to wipe away his tears, no sign that he was embarrassed by them. Being so wasn’t something that occurred to him—it was impossible to program in every little detail that years of environment had taught Johnny. It was refreshing, to be around someone, even if they were a robot, who only acted how they were, not how they thought they were supposed to. 

“What do you think?” The view was incredible, even on days of high pollution when you could see the heavy smog sitting in the air. It was where they brought every person of note who entered the Seo building. Johnny didn’t know what it was, precisely, that made him want to show it to Ten, just that he might enjoy it and he wanted to watch his reaction. He knew that none of the techs who programmed him would have—it was an experience that would be entirely new. 

“The world is so... much bigger than I thought,” Ten said. 

“But this is just Seoul,” Johnny pointed out. Ten laughed breathlessly. 

“The rest of it must be amazing then, too. The _sky_ , Johnny. I didn’t think anything could look that... endless.” 

What was it like down there in the lab for Ten? What was it like thinking you know something, then one day have a stranger come along and push everything you knew out of orbit? Johnny had put Ten off-kilter, and he had the sneaking suspicion that was why Dr. Park and Kun hadn’t put up more of a fight about Johnny taking Ten on an adventure. But Ten handled it wonderfully, with all the skill and grace of God’s Perfect Creation indeed. 

Ten turned to Johnny and pulled him abruptly into a hug. Rather, Ten did the hugging, as Johnny was too surprised for several beats to move his own body. But quickly enough his arms were able to function again and he wrapped them around Ten. The android’s frame was so slight that he fit perfect and snug in Johnny’s arms. Ten’s fingers dug into the back of his shirt. To hold Ten like that felt easy and right. 

“Humans also do this when they’re happy, don’t they?” Ten said, muffled by Johnny’s collarbone. 

“Yes,” Johnny said into Ten’s hair. For something synthetic it was remarkably soft. “We do.” 

“You were right, before. What I knew wasn’t really _knowing_ ,” Ten said. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

With one arm still looped around Ten, Johnny checked the thin band on his wrist that, on top of being connected to the entire Seo network, also told him the time. They still had half an hour before Johnny needed to return Ten the the lab. Enough time for one final stop. 

The day Johnny became an adult his father gifted him an apartment in Seo Tower all to himself. It was a beautiful studio several floors down from the penthouse he’d grown up in, nearly cavernous, not least because Johnny had it decorated with rich purples, greens, and dark wood. He’d also decorated it with other things, and that’s what he wanted Ten to see. Along one wall were shelves and shelves of books, real ones, an increasingly rare find. He also had a collection of records, passed down to him from his grandparents and their parents before them. Artifacts not only from a different time and place, but practically an entirely different world. 

The first thing Ten said when entering his apartment was: “It’s not as impressive as that last two places.” 

This was an objective fact, but Johnny also got the sense Ten was teasing him. 

Johnny took a thick book from the shelf—a biography of someone from a country long gone and the person long dead. He handed it to Ten, who sat down cross-legged on the floor in one fluid motion. 

“This is how humans learn, or er, used to. Everything’s on padds these days but they used to make these books out of real paper. Those are made from trees.”

“Seems wasteful,” Ten commented. 

“Sure. They’re nice though, aren’t they?” Ten nodded. He opened the book and started reading, though not in a way Johnny had ever seen someone read. His eyes didn’t scan the page but just looked at the whole thing once before moving onto the next. 

“How do you read like that?” Johnny asked curiously. Ten began to explain without looking up from the book. 

“Humans aren’t very good at processing multiple things. I’m able to take in the entire page and process them continuously.” Ten looked up. “You didn’t get that, did you?”

“No,” Johnny conceded. “But it sounded really impressive.” 

For the remainder of the time Johnny just watched Ten read book after book. Or perhaps _devour_ was the better word for it. He stepped away just once to use the bathroom, and when he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink he nearly expected to see that he himself had changed, somehow. In an afternoon the world had turned on its axis—there was a real android, an amazing one, sitting on his apartment floor right outside the door. Not a human, but certainly not just a robot, either. A creature somewhere in the liminal space between.

Johnny had so many other things he wanted to teach Ten about, show him. But they’d only been given two hours, and eventually that time came to an end. Breaking the news to Ten that it was time to leave felt to Johnny like telling Donghyuck that it was his bedtime when all he wanted to do was stay up and watch old movies with his brother. Ten pouted in the same way. 

When they walked back through the white halls of lab N-27 Ten was back to being still and quiet. Throughout the course of their excursion he’d become looser, more talkative, less simply subservient to Johnny’s commands. What Johnny really meant was that he acted more _human_ , with a mind of his own and his own motivations. He would have to tell Dr. Park that he thought the androids were quite successful. 

“Are we friends, Johnny?” Ten asked, stopping them. The next turn would take them back to the room Ten called home. 

“Sure.” It was perhaps a strange place to be in, being friends with an android, but Johnny didn’t feel like it was wrong, either. There were plenty of people in his life who called them his friends Johnny didn’t enjoy half has much as he enjoyed being with the android. At the end of the day, Johnny was still a teenager. He didn’t entertain he knew much about the world. All he knew was that he liked Ten. 

“Then you’ll visit me again, won’t you? Isn’t that—”

“What friends do? Yeah, I’ll visit you again, Ten. I promise.” 

-

**Seoul. 2077.**

“Who are these people?” Ten liked to touch things. He placed his finger on the glass of the photo frame, creating a small smudge over Donghycuk’s pudgy little face. 

They were back in Johnny’s apartment. Over the course of several months of knowing Ten Johnny had brought the android on a number of different tests (or as the two of them called them, adventures) throughout the Seo building. Ten loved the plants of the Atrium and was curious about the records library, but the place he was most comfortable was Johnny’s own apartment. 

“Who do you think they are?” Johnny asked. He was sitting on his couch reading expense reports on his padd while at the same time keeping an eye on Ten roaming around his apartment. He’d stopped in front of the line of photographs Johnny had hanging on his wall. Ten rolled his eyes at him. 

“Don’t patronize me,” he said. “Now, who?” 

Johnny scrunched his nose up at him. No way was he done teasing. “Had anyone ever told you you’re needy?” 

“Yes, you do. All the time. Yet somehow you keep coming back, hmmm, wonder why that is?” 

Johnny abandoned his padd and approached Ten, who looked at him one eyebrow raised in silent challenge. 

“If you were ticklish,” Johnny threatened, grabbing at Ten’s waist, “I would tickle you to death right now.” 

“Ha! As if you could live without me. You visit every week.” Ten twisted in his grip to poke his finger into Johnny’ chest. Johnny tried to ignore how hot he suddenly felt, that tight knot in the bottom of his stomach. 

“My family,” he blurted out instead. “The kid is Donghyuck. My brother. Well, half brother. He’s six years younger than me. He lives with his mom a little ways from here. He’s pretty cute.” 

“Do you love him?” Ten, Johnny had learned, was obsessed with human emotions, even considering he had fairly human-like emotions himself. There were things he couldn’t learn from research on his own, and that’s what he focused on. He liked to know the difference between his own programming and how people like Johnny felt and reacted to things. 

“Of course. People always love their family. Mostly.” 

Johnny continued along the wall, pointing out his memories to Ten. There were photographs of him and his mother and father, when Johnny was young, and then just of him and his father as Johnny grew. There was just one recent photograph of his mother, and that was when she appeared at a gala Johnny helped put on. He’d never expected her to actually show up. 

“Where did she go in your life?” Ten asked. Ah, of course. It wasn’t like Ten to ignore an observation of his. And it wasn’t like Johnny to lie to Ten, either. 

“Donghyuck wasn’t supposed to be part of the family,” he said. “It’s... when people are married, like my parents, they’re supposed to be loyal to only that person. But my father slept with someone else, not my mother, and that’s how Donghyuck was born. When my mother found out about it, um, things got complicated.” 

Ten nodded. He probably didn’t understand, fully. Human relationships were a point of real confusion for him. 

“Slept.... What does that mean?” 

Johnny felt his cheeks heat up. It wasn’t like Ten was _flirting_ with him or anything, it was just innocent curiosity, no reason for Johnny to be embarrassed. But he still was. 

“It’s slang for when people uh... have sex. Having sex leads—can lead—to children.” 

Ten cackled and slapped Johnny’s chest. “I know _that,_ duh. Where is she now?” 

“I hear from her every few months,” Johnny said. He tried to make it sound like it didn’t bother him. But then a hand slid into his. Ten knew that it did. 

-

**Seoul. 2078.**

Ten wasn’t waiting for him when Johnny arrived in the lab. Usually the android was tapped into Johnny’s schedule (maybe even literally) and was always waiting patiently on his cot in the lab for Johnny to whisk him away somewhere. 

Kun wasn’t present and neither was Dr. Park. Kun had been spending less and less time in the lab itself and more time in the offices upstairs, in particular Johnny’s office. Not that he minded—he found Kun to be quite good company and it was a relief to have someone he could rely on to actually be competent. But the fact that neither men were present in the lab gave Johnny the opportunity to do more poking around than was normally allowed. Despite _technically_ being in charge of the project, the scientists still often treated Johnny like an interloper, one they only begrudgingly allowed to hang around because of the testing hours he’d put in with Ten. All parts of the actual science slyly kept out of his view.

By that time the Model 1 androids were well into production in the rooms next to Ten’s. The machines that threaded together the skeletons and muscles no longer frightened Johnny like they once did, but the shadow of that fear still hung over him. The two androids of the first generation were of different builds—one small, similar to Ten, but the other far taller with a far bulkier frame. One model for entertainment, the other for work. The timeline would have them completed in another year. 

Inside his own room in the lab that essentially constituted his home, Ten lay still and silent on the cot. It was, almost, like he was sleeping. He’d never seen Ten sleep before. He didn’t even know if Ten had to sleep. 

Ten didn’t wake when Johnny approached the cot. Johnny just watched him, then. If not for the vibrance and color of his skin, Ten would have looked like he was dead. The androids didn’t require active oxygen intake to function, so any rise and fall of their chests was purely for the sake of appearing human. Johnny could have set a glass of water filled to the brim over when Ten’s lungs would be. Neither did his eyes flutter under their lids. His eyelashes rested perfectly, undisturbed, on his tan cheeks. Just laying there he looked like a doll. 

Johnny never had to wake Ten before. Was there some kind of on-switch he could press? 

The year before his parents separated for good, they celebrated their first and last Christmas together in the penthouse. His father would have to work later in the afternoon but the morning had been designated for family time. Johnny remembered being awoken to the smell of warm pastries in the oven and a gentle hand on his forehead—his father gently stroking Johnny’s hair from his forehead, telling him to get up. If Johnny knew then what was to come he would have pretended to sleep for just a little while longer, just so he could savor the moment. 

So that’s what Johnny decided to do to Ten. He stroked his thumb from the edge of Ten’s eyebrow upwards, the repeated that motion. 

“Ten,” he said quietly, but firmly. An order. “Wake up.” 

Ten’s eyes fluttered open obediently. It only took him a fraction of a moment to recognize Johnny hovering over him—Johnny could see the recognition in his eyes—but a second more for the rest of his body to come online and catch up with his mind. Ten’s own slim hand wrapped around Johnny’s wrist, keeping his hand in place petting the android’s forehead. 

Johnny suspected Dr. Park had taken some inspiration from a cat. 

“Hi,” Ten grinned. Johnny gave him some space so he could sit up on the cot. Not a single hair was out of place. They went through their normal procedure while Johnny talked about the mundane updates of his life, all of which Ten enjoyed listening to (“human lives are so weird,” Ten had told him once). They scanned Johnny’s iris, then the sensors under Ten’s wrist, effectively “checking Ten out” of the lab. Dr. Park made no requests from Johnny in terms of written reports on what he did with Ten—he assumed the tracking was how they got all the data they needed. From there it was up. 

“Were you sleeping when I arrived?” Johnny asked once they were settled in a back corner of the Atrium. Ten wanted to watch the humans. Above everything else, he loved to observe. All of human knowledge what at his fingertips, but it was hardly a replacement for his own observations. As usual, Johnny was happy to just watch Ten. Each day he spent with the android he asked questions, and each day more questions arose.

“In a way,” Ten hummed in response.

Sometimes Ten was like this—purposefully obtuse when it wasn’t a command and he didn’t _have_ to obey. 

“Do you dream?” Johnny asked instead of trying to get Ten to elaborate on that point further. It was another way Ten was much like a cat: he liked to toy with Johnny sometimes, to tease him and lead him in circles until Johnny reached the point Ten was angling for. It was part of what made him such an interesting companion; the android’s ability to engage was one of the key selling points Johnny had lined up. 

“No,” Ten said. He closed his eyes, and Johnny felt like wasn’t with him fully, then. Like he’d retreated momentarily to the private world in his mind. He did so, sometimes. The most obvious giveaway was when he returned to the unnatural stillness Johnny had gradually trained out of him. Johnny hadn’t the slightest clue how the operating software worked, still, so he never dared ask what Ten was doing when he withdrew. “I don’t dream at all.” 

“What else don’t you do?”

Ten reached his hand up towards Atrium’s glowing ceiling and studied the way his fingers fractured the light. “For one,” he said. “Lie.” 

-

**Seoul. 2079.**

Ten was no longer the android in the lab. The rooms on either side of his held two more androids—U1 and V1, an entertainment class and a worker class. Dr. Park had given them the names Taeyong and Lucas, respectively. Ten, perpetually curious Ten, showed hardly any interest in them, however. Johnny thought Ten’s indifference to the other androids was his way of pouting because he was no longer the center of attention in the lab. 

But he had nothing to be jealous about. Johnny was still focused on nothing but him. 

Both Dr. Park and Kun repeated to Johnny on a near-daily basis that the androids were not friends. They were companions or helpers, but ultimately, just like every other robot on the market, they were tools. Johnny knew that—he did. It was just when he was actually _with_ Ten it felt as natural as spending time with Taeil or Donghyuck. 

Well. Not exactly. Taeil didn’t make him blush. 

But what made his interactions with Ten less meaningful than the dry, pointless ones he had everyday with his employees? 

Here’s a question: what makes something real? The kinds of molecules it’s made from, or the feelings it inspires? 

It felt real when Johnny had Ten up in his apartment. The android wore the same all-white outfit, and Johnny’s apartment had hardly changed, but somehow they always found new things to do and talk about. 

“Do you have a favorite record?” Ten asked. He leafed through Johnny’s vinyl collection. He movements looked careless, but Ten had perfect control over his body and exerted exactly as much effort as he intended to. 

Johnny only needed to think about the answer for a moment. 

“ _Wild Horses,_ ” he said. “The Rolling Stones.” 

“Written originally by Keith Richards for his son in 1969. Re-written by Rolling Stones frontman Mick Jagger and released on the album _Sticky Fingers_ in 1971,” Ten recited. “Your favorite record is from over one hundred years ago? How... you.” 

“It’s a great song!” Johnny defended. “Put it on.” 

Johnny hummed along as Jagger’s rough croons filled the apartment. He watched as the movement began in Ten’s fingers and worked its way to his wrists, his elbows, his neck, hips, legs. Ten was dancing—not in the way that Johnny understood it (some swaying, perhaps fist pumping and jerking wildly if the occasion called for it), but in a way a trained dancer would. 

It wasn’t like it a machine doing it, mechanically perfect and soulless. Not at all. The way Ten danced was raw and beautiful, powerful emotions channeled through physical action. One movement came seamlessly after another, and they threaded together like Ten had pre-choreographed everything. 

Even when the music ended Ten did not. For one minute... then two. He kept on going, lost in his private world, and suddenly Johnny felt as though he were a voyeur. It was like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be. It was more intimate than all the times he’d watched Dr. Park poke around with Ten’s muscles or clean the caverns of his software core. 

That shouldn’t have been true—Ten wasn’t real. He was an android. One step above a robot. 

So _why_ —

“You’re crying,” Ten said. Suddenly he was standing right there. Johnny hadn’t even realized he had been. Slowly, ever so slowly, Ten reached up to cup Johnny’s face gently. They were both standing, and Ten had to pull Johnny’s gaze lower physically so they could look into each other’s eyes. “Humans do this when they’re happy, right? Tell me Johnny, are you happy or sad?” 

Johnny brought his own hands up to mirror Ten’s positions. There were but a few inches of space between them. He stroked a thumb over Ten’s perfect cheekbone. “Happy,” he whispered. 

It was Ten who kissed him first, that Johnny was sure of. It was not much more than a gentle press of the lips, but it was there. Ten’s lips were soft. 

“What are you doing?” Johnny asked, although he had expected it. No, he’d wanted it, too. The answer was already on Johnny’s tongue, however—

“Isn’t this what humans do when they care about each other? When they love each other?” 

“You can’t love,” Johnny said as he pulled Ten in for another kiss. He was but a man, and a man could only resist so much. How many hours were spent building to this moment? Their kisses became frenzied but maintained a rhythm. Ten himself didn’t need to breathe but he was perfectly tuned into Johnny’s every movement and breath. What data would Ten gather from this? 

“Teach me,” Ten said into Johnny’s mouth. He leaned into Johnny further. Ten was light, but it was enough to guide Johnny backwards, somehow, the back of his knees found the edge of his bed. Ten landed gracefully on top; from the angle he looked like a crouching cheetah, every muscle coiled and ready for action. 

Johnny was too caught up in the heat, the rush of it to slow down. Truthfully, no part of him wanted to stop at all. It had been years since he met Ten, and each meeting of their lips drove Johnny’s fascination with Ten further. 

Ten was a robot, but Johnny could pretend he wasn’t.

When they designed the androids for in part entertainment purposes the scientists at Seo Corp had left no stone unturned. On top of him Ten was hot and receptive to every touch. He shivered when Johnny ran a hand down his stomach and gasped when it wrapped around his length. When Ten sat down on him, fully, he was pliant and open. 

Ten rode Johnny with all the enthusiasm of someone with something to prove. In a way, he did, to both himself and to Johnny. Because Ten wanted to know humans, perhaps he even wanted to _be_ human. He was showing that he could at least try. He did so until Johnny was panting and just on the brink, and that was when Ten tipped over himself, spilling onto Johnny’s chest and stomach with a surprised cry. Ten straddled Johnny is the perfect image of ecstasy as if someone had taken a fantasy straight from Johnny’s mind and carved it into marble. It was a sight enough for Johnny to finish, too. 

During Seoul nights they could pretend to be whoever they wanted. 

After, when the two of them laid in Johnny’s bed, Ten tucked up against his chest, reality came flushing back in. Had he really done that? It felt so crass, so careless. It was a feeling worse than regret, because Johnny _didn’t_ regret it. Sex with Ten was the best sex he ever had. What he felt, instead, was shame. 

He crossed over a precarious, invisible line between creator and creation. Not in sleeping with Ten, but by daring to think that it was because he _loved_ Ten and that Ten could ever truly love him back. Yes. He’d crossed a line—and the entire NCT project had as well. 

The question was if it would ever be possible to go back. 

-

**Seoul. 2081.**

“Sir?” Johnny’s secretary, Hana, poked just her head into his office. “Mr. Qian is on the line—he wants to know if you have time to meet with the new head of NCT early next week.” 

The recent launch of the Neo Culture androids to the consumer market—available in limited quantities to select buyers only—had utterly consumed Johnny’s life. To make matters worse they were trying to replace the program’s head scientist at the same time. However, by all accounts, the soft launch had been successful. They’d sold several models and the company’s stock prices were through the roof. Johnny patted himself on the back for promoting Kun to director of Research and Development several years ago—it all would have been impossible without him.

“ _Do_ I have time?” Johnny asked Hana. 

“I’ll arrange for lunch on Monday,” she said. “Oh, and one more thing sir. Jaehyun left a message. He said to make sure you didn’t forget about dinner tonight.” Johnny cringed. He _had_ forgotten about dinner. His boyfriend was insistent that he actually get out and socialize once the launch was finished, and the dinner with Taeil and Jaehyun had been on the calendar for over a month. But fortunately, Jaehyun knew Johnny all too well and had likely sent the reminder knowing full-well Johnny would forget. 

Johnny left work earlier than he had in months and took one of the many autonomous cars in the Seo fleet to the restaurant several blocks away. He arrived precisely on time, and naturally, both Jaehyun and Taeil were already waiting for him. Johnny greeted Taeil with their usual handshake-back-slapping combination and Jaehyun with a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you for the reminder,” he whispered in Jaehyun’s ear. His boyfriend replied with a knowing smile. 

“I think congratulations are in order,” Taeil said once they were settled and the wine was flowing. “A toast to Mr. John Seo himself and the Neo Culture program!”

“I think congratulations are in order for your bank account,” Johnny said. They clinked glasses. “I’m assuming you saw the stock price.”

“It wasn’t bad,” Taeil teased. Jaehyun’s hand was a warm, comfortable weight on Johnny’s thigh. 

“I thought we agreed no talking shop at the table,” Jaehyun reprimanded gently. It wasn’t however, like he had no idea what they were talking about. Although he wasn’t directly associated with Seo Corp., Jaehyun too belonged to the corporate upper class. He’d experienced a meteoric rise through the ranks Seoul society with his cryptography agency; his success story was something of an urban legend among their social circle. What was more interesting was that no one was entirely sure where he’d come from or how he got the initial funding for the company. The most substantial lead was that he was part of the Jung family that owned most of Jeju island, but that he’d spent his educational years tucked away at some boarding school in North America. 

So when they met at a gala early last year, Jaehyun was an enigma to Johnny. It was Taeil who made the initial introduction over horderves and then looped them both into an ill-conceived mission for takoyaki once they realized the food at the gala wasn’t any good. From there, their relationship had been inevitable, with one date turning into another, and another, and another, until Jaehyun’s presence was a given. 

Many things with Jaehyun felt like that—inevitable. It was his patience and drive, Johnny thought. There were countless nights when waited so patiently for Johnny to finish working, curled up on his couch late into the night. And when Johnny _did_ stop he was rewarded with a warm body next to him in bed with only encouraging words. 

Not like Ten, who always preferred to tease. 

“It’s a big achievement,” Jaehyun acquiesced. “But I think I’m happier having my boyfriend back.” Johnny kissed the back of Jaehyun’s hand. Taeil rolled his eyes at them. 

“Have you seen them yet?” Taeil asked Jaehyun, who shook his head no. Jaehyun had never expressed too much interest in the project, or Johnny’s work in general. He said he was more interested in _people_ rather than what they did. “They’re incredible.”

“You’re enjoying yours then?” Johnny asked. Taeil was one of the very first buyers of an NCT model. Taeil grinned. 

“Yuta?” He shook his head a bit, like he still couldn’t believe it was all real. “Your scientists have really made something totally unique. At first I thought it would be strange having something else living in my apartment but the things it can do...” 

“Something tells me he’s not talking about its cooking skills,” Jaehyun said in a whisper he purposefully made loud enough for Taeil to hear. 

“Ha ha. I use it for work, mostly. It’s like my best employee, personal assistant, and bodyguard rolled into one. Interesting conversation, too. And ok, I’ll give it to you, good sex. I’ll have you know that came in the manual. Just because you two have magical sex lives doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” 

An automated server delivered their food, steaming plates of genuine beef that cost some exorbitant amount of money. But as Taeil said, they were celebrating. 

“Yuta is good with my brother, too,” Taeil said subdued. Johnny and Jaehyun gave him matching soft expressions. “It can take him out without me being worried about him constantly.” Taeil’s brother was a genuine medical miracle. He’d been born early—far too early. The first months of his life were spent in a synthetic womb and the NICU for a year after that. Somehow, despite all of the doctor’s predictions, his mind had developed fine, but he suffered from chronic health issues. He was fragile, and Taeil absolutely doted on him. 

But his fragility also made him an easy target. 

“Did you hear that the JYP heir was attacked on the way to Japan? It was an attempted kidnapping,” Johnny said. Everyone had heard. In their world, kidnappings and robberies, especially of chaebol heirs, was a commonplace event. It was why they primarily stuck to their network of interconnected buildings high above the ground-level streets. 

Desperate people were capable of unbelievable things. 

“Enough with work, seriously,” Jaehyun said. His hand in Johnny’s, he rubbed his thumb back and forth. 

“Ok, ok!” Johnny said. They changed the topic and dinner continued from there. 

The meal stretched on into the night, as dinners between them commonly did. At the end of it, when Taeil said goodbye to Johnny and Jaehyun, the two of them climbed into another autonomous car and headed back to the Seo building. Plenty of wine ran hot in both of them. At some point Jaehyun’s hand migrated to the inside of Johnny’s thigh, higher than was appropriate for a public setting. Johnny rubbed circles into Jaehyun’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t mean to downplay the project,” Jaehyun said suddenly. Guilt clouded his eyes. “Taeil was right—it’s amazing. Before I met you, I never thought something like it was possible.” 

“You didn’t!” Johnny assured. “I get it. You don’t want my entire life to be NCT. And because of you, it’s not.” Johnny leaned in and met Jaehyun for a kiss. It was intended to be brief, but Jaehyun’s hand gripped at his thigh tighter and the two were drawn further in. 

“Can I—can I—” Jaehyun started, but it was difficult to speak when Johnny was trailing a line of hot kisses down his neck. Johnny loved it when he had Jaehyun begging. “Can I see them?” 

Johnny stopped. “Oh. That’s... not where I thought you were going with that.” 

“Shit,” Jaehyun groaned. “I just killed the mood, didn’t I?” 

“No! No. It just surprised me,” Johnny said. “Of course you can see them, Jae. Why else do I have lab access if not to show off a little?” 

So Johnny led them down the the familiar white halls. He was feeling loose and giddy, a bit like he was a child again exploring places he wasn’t supposed to. Of course, Johnny had a specific room in mind. On the way to Ten’s they passed no other androids—it was late at night and the commercial androids were likely tucked away in their individual storage pods unless they were being worked on; and to his knowledge there was only one person who worked late. 

When they did make it to Ten’s lab Jaehyun gripped at Johnny and peered over his shoulder down at Ten. Johnny grinned at the soft gasp that came out of his mouth. 

“Ten, wake up,” he commanded softly. 

It was the same every time. Ten’s eyes opened first, soft and unfocused, the software emerging from its sleep mode. His body followed a second after. Ten noticed Johnny first, and he gave a pleased smiled. When he spotted Jaehyun, however, that smile froze in place. It was a subtle difference, an imperceptible one from anyone who hadn’t spent countless hours with Ten like Johnny had. Something was clearly off with him. 

“Hello,” Ten greeted politely, in a way he hadn’t since he and Johnny first met. He sat up on his cot with his delicate hands folded in his lap. “My name is Ten.” 

“Jaehyun,” he said. The awe of it had yet to fade. Johnny understood that feeling well enough. Ten enchanted him the moment they met and kept doing so years after. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah, you too—Johnny!” 

Johnny reached out and flicked the slide of Ten’s head. Ten reacted automatically, slapping Johnny’s wrist away lightly. In that second his perfect facade broke. An annoyed expression came across his features. 

“I would say that hurt, but your stupid human fingers don’t have the strength,” he said. 

Yeah, that was more like it. 

“You were being polite. You’re _never_ polite,” Johnny said in his defense. 

“I can be polite!” Ten pouted. He turned to address Jaehyun. “Wasn’t I polite?” 

Johnny watched as Jaehyun cycled through several emotions including amusement, shock, and confusion. “Uh, yeah,” he said dumbly. “You were polite.” 

“Ha!” 

“Whatever.” Johnny offered his hand and Ten took it, hoping off the cot and landing lightly on the floor. Ten tilted his head at Jaehyun in his birdlike manner. As confusing as the previous interaction had been, Jaehyun appeared relaxed and inscrutable under Ten’s gaze. At least, _Johnny_ thought he was inscrutable. Who knew what Ten saw. 

“I feel like I’m meeting the parents,” Jaehyun joked. 

“Meeting-the-parents. Part of the dating tradition,” Ten recited. He looked at Johnny, questioning. 

“It’s kind of old fashioned, but it carries a lot of pressure. It’s comparable because you’re analyzing him like my parents would,” Johnny explained. Ten nodded in understanding. Another piece of social context to add to his ever-growing lexicon. 

“Wow,” Jaehyun said. “You learn so fast.” Ten preened and grinned under the attention. 

“I like you,” he declared. “Now, are we going to stay here all night or are you getting me out of here?” 

Ten more or less pranced down the hallway was soon as he was let out of his room. Johnny looped an arm around Jaehyun’s shoulder and led them after him at a far more leisurely place. 

“Taeil was right,” Jaehyun told Johnny. “This is amazing. Johnny. It—he— _this_ is so incredible.” 

“I know,” Johnny said. He was watching Ten do cartwheels down the hall. “He really is amazing.” 

-

Johnny didn’t know how it ended up happening. No, that was a lie. It happened because it _had been_ happening, for several years, no matter how many times Johnny told himself he should stop. 

Up in his apartment, the three of them fell into bed. 

Ever since the first time, each time Johnny gave Ten his reprieve from the lab they ended up back in Johnny’s apartment, specifically his bed. The feeling of shame never went away but Johnny found himself unable to stop. The longest stretch he’d gone without seeing Ten on purpose was a full month, and when he finally caved the expression on Ten’s face when he saw him was one of such pure joy that all resilience disappeared. When he first got together with Jaehyun he thought it would change things. It hadn’t. 

What _had_ changed was what he told himself to justify his actions. He wasn’t with Ten because he _loved_ him, because he loved Jaehyun. Providing pleasure was part of Ten’s inherent design. And Johnny was teaching him more about the world, too. That was all. 

Jaehyun didn’t know. Johnny never thought to tell him. 

Ten decided the best way to show Jaehyun how much he liked him by walking him to Johnny’s bed, pushing him onto it, and grinding on top of him. He tossed a look back at Johnny as if to say: _look. Look at how good I can be._

Of course it was quite the sight. The two people at the center of Johnny’s sex life gasping together on his bed was something he could only dream of in his most feverish of fantasies. Johnny would even be content just to watch the two of them together but it was Ten who was beckoning him over. From there it was falling into their natural rhythm, something barely disturbed even with Jaehyun’s presence. 

Johnny made eye-contact with Jaehyun over Ten’s shoulder as he stepped in between his boyfriend’s open legs dangling half-off the bed and wrapped one arm around the android’s thin waist. His pupils were blown wide and he was biting at the left corner of his lip like he always did when he was especially aroused. Pressed against Ten Johnny could feel his synthetic muscles working hard as the stretched and dimpled. Ten rolled his ass mercilessly over Jaehyun’s crotch. His slacks would have stains the next morning. 

Ten grabbed at Jaehyun’s hands and placed them where he wanted them—one on his hip and the other on his chest. At some point Ten’s shirt had come off, and maybe it was Johnny who had done that in the first place. It left Johnny with only one thing to do, which was to place his own hands on Ten, one fitted over Jaehyun’s, and the other roaming up the android’s smooth chest to tweak at a nipple. 

“If you think this is good,” Johnny said. His hot breath ghosted over the base of Ten’s neck but was loud enough for Jaehyun to hear clearly as well. “Imagine how good he feels inside.” 

Jaehyun threw his head back and groaned out loud, bucking up sharply against Ten’s rhythm in his lap. Johnny could feel Ten’s laughter under his hands. 

“Yeah?” Johnny continued, feeling encouraged. Sex with Ten was like a game, a battle. Jaehyun, however, wanted a seduction. “Is that what you want? You want to fuck Tennie? You want to fuck Tennie while I fuck you?” 

“Or you could _both_ fuck me,” Ten muttered under his breath. It was nearly lost beneath the reverberation of Jaehyun’s moans, but Johnny heard it. As arousing as that was, it was something to tuck away from another time. 

Johnny smacked Ten’s (annoyingly still clothed) ass. “Show Jaehyun how good you are, hm?” 

Ten rolled his for a flash. Before shifting off Jaehyun’s lap he turned his head to face Johnny and tilted his head up, obviously fishing for a kiss. That was his payment, and Johnny was glad to give it to him. 

Secretly, Johnny always missed Ten’s kisses. Even when he was in bed with Jaehyun. Ten’s kisses were uniquely him, and since Johnny had taught him, everything he liked. 

When Ten was off Jaehyun’s lap Johnny moved in to focus on his boyfriend. It felt like what he _should_ be doing. He stripped off their clothes until it was just hot skin pressed against each other. Johnny pulled them up onto their knees and slipped two lube-slicked fingers between the cleft of Jaehyun’s perfect ass. He shifted his mouth down to Jaehyun’s neck, allowing the other to shift his head so he could watch Ten finger himself lazily as he watched kiss. 

For Ten, it was almost entirely for show, but from experience Johnny knew Ten looked incredible when he did it. From the way he stared, Jaehyun thought so, too. 

“Are you good?” Johnny whispered in Jaehyun’s ear. Ten probably heard it, anyways. But Jaehyun was hot all over and his erection flushed and leaking already. He was far more out of it than usual, like the whole experience was completely overwhelming him. But Jaehyun gasped and nodded against his shoulder, and Johnny took that as his cue to keep going. 

He beckoned Ten over with a simple nod of his head. Ten slipped in behind Jaehyun, his hands mixing with Johnny’s over the smooth expanse of his back and chest. They met for a wet kiss over Jaehyun’s shoulder but it didn’t last for long, because Ten gave Johnny a devilish smile before sliding down. It was all the warning both Johnny and Jaehyun had before Ten’s tongue met Johnny’s fingers as they slid in and out of Jaehyun’s warm hole. 

“Holy fuck,” Jaehyun swore, bucking against Johnny. He palmed Jaehyun’s erection lightly and between that and Ten’s efforts, Johnny wasn’t sure his boyfriend would even make it to the main event. Maybe that was Ten’s idea. 

But despite his needy whimpers Jaehyun did hold on. When he was ready Johnny laid him down comfortably flat on his back against the silky sheets. In only a slightly different position from earlier Johnny sat on his knees between Jaehyun’s bent legs while Ten’s straddled his lap. It was where Ten preferred to be, generally. On top he was in control of everything—it was his show. 

Ten arched the beautiful, thin line of his back when he leaned forward. Jaehyun met him for a sloppy kiss, deep, with more tongue than he’d ever given Johnny. Was that how he had been with the people before Johnny? Even with the sudden flare of jealousy the rush of blood to his already hard erection was a clear sign he enjoyed the display. He especially appreciated the way Ten showed off and bounced his ass, ready and waiting to be fucked. But not by Johnny, not tonight. 

Johnny did it for them. He gave Jaehyun two good pumps before he lined his dick up against Ten’s greedy hole, and the android sat down on it in full right at the beginning. It sent a pleased flush through Johnny when Jaehyun had the same reaction he himself had when Ten first pulled that move on him, which was a choked moan. 

Ten sat up fully and began to bounce in earnest. There was no patience in him—the night was a sprint, not one of the days where Johnny had Ten rolling around in the sheets for hours. 

He gave them a moment to adjust to the pace before his own needs crept up on him. Was that how his own cock looked sliding in and out of Ten? Was there any way Ten always looked so breathtaking when he fucked? 

Johnny had waited long enough. He teased the head of his cock at Jaehyun’s hole so the other would know it was coming and when he pushed in it wasn’t with Ten’s fast and easy motion. He took it slow to savor the drag of his cock against Jaehyun’s warmth. The other shuddered and jerked, his hips falling out of rhythm with Ten’s. 

In that position with every full thrust Johnny’s chest met Ten’s back, though they were constantly connected by some limb. At one point Ten threw his arm around Johnny’s neck and rolled his head onto Johnny’s shoulder, less like they were in bed together and more like they were dancing. It exposed the long, honey expanse of Ten’s neck and Johnny could see Jaehyun watching it with hunger. Sensing what his boyfriend desired, and what _he_ wanted, too, Johnny covered that neck with his own hand. It was mostly for the visual, as Ten had explained to Johnny numerous times he did not, strictly, need to breathe, but it had the intended effect. 

Jaehyun’s thrusts became even more frantic, the way he was rolling up into Ten and back onto Johnny uneven. In response Ten’s own bounces were deeper, somehow even more punishing than before. Johnny had never been so rough with Jaehyun, but there were clearly no complaints about Ten’s treatment. 

Jaehyun came first. Johnny knew all the signs—how he arched his neck and back and scrunched up his nose in that cute way. Both Ten and Johnny watched him, and for the first time Johnny took complete control of Ten and used his hands on small hips to move him at a pace better suited to milk Jaehyun’s orgasm. 

But after that, it was fair game. 

Johnny pushed Ten forward with one firm hand, so that he fell almost directly on top of Jaehyun, and slipped out of Jaehyun and into Ten within a matter of seconds. The pace Johnny set was rough as well, far moreso than he was with Jaehyun. He knew how Ten wanted it. 

How Johnny wanted it. 

Ten pressed his face into Jaehyun’s chest as he gasped and shuddered in pace with every one of Johnny’s thrusts. Jaehyun watched them, pupil’s blown and dazed. He used Ten freely to chase his own release. Jaehyun was _right there_ , but when Johnny did come, he chose to bite down on Ten’s shoulder. 

Johnny and Jaehyun were gleaming with sweat, and Ten, of course, looked drastically more put-together. He’d learned over the years that just because Ten didn’t react in the same ways a human did to sex didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy it. Ten had been clear, many times over, that sex with Johnny was something he enjoyed. It was even in his programming. 

“Jae?” Johnny asked. The man in question made some kind of noise of affirmation. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “Do you want Ten to come on your face?” 

That got Jaehyun’s attention. His sleepy eyes shot open and looked at Johnny with an open mouth before nodding. Johnny smiled in satisfaction. He pressed as close to Ten as he could, who fit perfectly cradled against his chest, and used the palm of his hand to work the tip of Ten’s dick. It wouldn’t take a lot. 

“Come, baby,” Johnny said. Ten came with a cry, spilling onto Jaehyun’s chin and kiss plump lips. 

Ten cleaned them up without complaining. Johnny had signed him out of the lab for the entire night. Because he wasn’t the only android around anymore the white coats downstairs were more generous with the timeframe he could leave. He slipped wordlessly under the covers of Johnny’s bed, positioned so Johnny was in the middle of the two. His arm just barely brushed the side of Johnny’s, while on the other hand Jaehyun used his chest as a pillow.

“Wow,” Jaehyun said. “That was probably the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.” 

Johnny laughed. “I’m glad. Are you fishing for a repeat-performance?” 

Jaehyun tilted his head up to look Johnny in the eye. He flashed one of his million dollar smiles, the one that made people believe in him and also give him their money at investor meetings. “Who knows? Maybe I am.” 

Beside them, Ten began to hum a tune.

-

Sicheng woke sometime in the early afternoon, his body naturally pulling him out of sleep’s grasp. The filters on the windows kept his room dark, but as soon as he fought his way into a sitting position they faded and the room flooded with light. Sicheng squinted against the sudden onslaught against his eyes. He never had been a morning person. 

It was a good day for him. His chest felt easy and his lungs sounded clear when he breathed. The entire apartment suite he shared with Taeil was perfectly climate controlled, everything down to the humidity percentage of the triple-filtered air. On their way to the apartment visitors were subtly screened for unusual heat signatures and potential disease markers by a small fleet of cameras positioned in the elevator and hallways. However, Taeil still limited outside visitors, and took personal meetings in one of the fleet of restaurants he’d invested in around Seoul. 

All so fragile, sickly Sicheng could be safe. 

He hated it. 

Sicheng swung his legs off the bed—which had been adjusted to the perfect height—and tested his weight. On bad days, he couldn’t even get out of bed without his body crumpling on him. But his feet felt firm and steady against the heated floor. A heavy knit cardigan was folded perfectly on the bedside table, which although sleek held everything Sicheng might need in case of an emergency. He put it on over his gray pajama set. He lived his whole life in pajamas. 

His room was clean and minimalistic, with dark, real wood accents. Windows stretched along one wall floor to ceiling. There were only three pieces of furniture—Sicheng’s large bed, the bedside table on one side, and a single wingback chair on the other. Everything else, from the piles of medical equipment to his clothing, was cleverly tucked away in panels along the wall that opened with just a touch. None of his personal belongings were in the room; it was purposefully uncluttered for the occasions when the medical supplies had to be brought out and the room was flooded with nurses and doctors. 

However, Sicheng knew that in the ceiling were hundreds of minute sensors, just like the ones in the halls and elevators, tracking every vital sign and movement. In the corner there was a slender silver pole that looked something like a lamp and that was the Seo Corp. patented Nurse bot, in charge of delivering Sicheng’s regular treatments and capable of providing life-saving treatments if necessary.

When Sicheng was young there were always nurses around. His parents had a small army of them since the day they brought him home from the NICU. Most of them, however, had been replaced by just one. 

As Sicheng approached the room’s door it slid open automatically. “Yuta?” He called softly. The android appeared in the next second, holding a tray of food carefully portioned and prepared with every nutritional macro in mind. 

The apartment outside of Sicheng’s room was a different beast from his perfect room. Despite Taeil’s best efforts he wasn’t the neatest person in the world and tended to leave his own belongings around in random places dispersed throughout the apartment. He favored dark, rich colors as well, unlike the near-sterile neutrals of Sicheng’s own room. The walls held photographs of their family and the strange, abstract art Taeil liked. Sicheng didn’t think his older brother had ever thrown away a gift, even the terrible ones. 

Yuta was the best gift Sicheng had ever gotten. 

Taeil had presented Yuta to him three weeks ago, apparently the first NCT model to be sold. Sicheng, of course, had never seen an android before. But then again, he didn’t know very many actual _people_ , either. His daily interactions with humans were limited to Taeil, the nurses, and his virtual network. Some days he worked alongside Taeil, but the majority of his time was spent with Sicheng. 

Sicheng, frankly, adored him, though he didn’t like to show it. 

Yuta was there, ostensibly, to take care of him, but it never came with the pity he dreaded from the nurses. He had overarching orders from Taeil that governed his actions but otherwise he was just there accompanying Sicheng, doing essentially anything he wanted. Except take him outside. Sicheng was well aware Taeil would have given the android orders not to leave the apartment, so Sicheng never asked. 

The two of them settled on a pair of matching armchairs in the living room. To Sicheng’s right was a large window and across from him was Yuta, the two chairs close enough together so if Sicheng stretched his toe out they would be touching. It was his favorite place to sit not because the view was good in the conventional sense, but because if he looked down the automated rails of cars and trains crossed almost directly below them. It was the best perch to watch people going about their lives. 

Sicheng stubbornly balanced the tray on his lap instead of using the swiveling table designed for the exact purpose of fitting over furniture. If it were Taeil he would have pressed, but Yuta just raised an eyebrow at him when Sicheng took the tray from him. 

He started with the pills, five colorful little tabs, which he chased with the sugar-free orange juice. The company the oranges came from made millions of dollars last quarter from their GMO design that allowed the oranges to grow in mass quantities indoors. He ate the banana and picked at it delicately with his fingers. After the fruit would come the oatmeal, which Sicheng ate everyday despite hating it. But there was one extra thing on the tray—a mug of dark black coffee. Sicheng closed his hand around the mug and enjoyed the warmth of it for a moment. 

A hand closed around his on the mug. Yuta was close to him, then, leaning over the chair with his face just inches from Sicheng’s. They touched in just the one place, but the intensity of Yuta’s gaze made it feel as though they were pressed right up against each other. His unnatural eyes were beautiful. 

Everything about Yuta was beautiful. The scientists who made him had been given the chance to create life, so of course they were going to make their creations beautiful. His human trappings were remarkable, down to the pores. Sicheng wondered what places he could pull at to peel those layers away. If he stuck his fingers into Yuta mouth and dug into his gums would he find wires there? 

It was a dark urge, but one that Sicheng found he’d been having more and more. Fantasies not necessarily about hurting Yuta, but of taking him apart piece by piece. Not of destruction but of unmaking. Yuta was supposed to obey his (almost) every command. Would he let him do it? 

Sicheng pressed his hand, the one not wrapped around the coffee mug, to Yuta’s perfect cheekbone. Under his touch Yuta made no movement, so Sicheng pressed harder. Their eyes bore into each other’s. He pressed until his thin bones felt like they were rattling in his body. 

Yuta let it happen until he judged Sicheng’s actions to be bordering on self-destruction. Perhaps that’s what they were always meant to be in the beginning. With gentle hands he pulled away Sicheng from his face and his hand from the coffee mug. All that was left from Sicheng’s efforts were flush red circles, quickly fading, in the perfect shape of his fingers. 

“Don’t burn yourself,” was all Yuta said. He took the coffee mug for himself and returned to his seat. The topic of food had come up the first day Yuta served him breakfast. The android didn’t need to eat, of course, but he _could_ eat, and could even taste strong flavors. It’s why whenever he ate with Sicheng he drank the strongest black coffee that could be made. Sicheng didn’t like to eat alone. 

He went back to eating is oatmeal, enjoying the way the cold spoon felt against his tongue. Sicheng watched Yuta as he did so, and Yuta watched him back. To each other they were the most interesting things in the room. Yuta looked at him like he wanted to set him on fire and devour him whole, and frankly, Sicheng enjoyed the attention. 

(Yuta didn’t look at Taeil like that.) 

“Are you going to Russia with my brother?” Sicheng asked. His tone was casual but his intentions were anything but—he was fishing for information. Taeil never told him about his work, just when he would be gone, so Sicheng had to find out through other means. He had no idea if Yuta knew this or not. 

“No,” Yuta replied. Sicheng nodded and looked out the window—he wasn’t sure he could hide his emotions from appearing in his eyes. To be completely honest, he wasn’t sure he was disappointed or excited that Yuta would be staying with him. On one hand, it gave him more opportunities to peel away Yuta’s layers. On the other hand, however, with Yuta gone Sicheng would be left with nurses, and nurses were far easier to manipulate. Sicheng was powerful Taeil Moon’s beautiful, fragile, and sweet. Or, he _could_ be sweet. Other times he wanted to be nasty for no other reason besides that he was so _bored._

What Sicheng perhaps liked the most about Yuta was that he took all of his teasing, pettiness, and cruelty and kept coming back for more. 

Yes, Sicheng adored Yuta. But he also despised him. He never looked at Sicheng like he was judging him, but at the same time there was always the overhanging knowledge that he’d been assigned by Taeil to be Sicheng’s keeper. These conflicting emotions raged inside him, to the point where his own emotions sometimes gave him whiplash. However, when was the last time his life was exciting? When he had something concrete to look forward to besides the existential joy of being not-dead? 

_I wonder, Yuta, are you more a jailer or toy?_

If Yuta was a toy, then it was time to play. 

Slowly, Sicheng slipped his foot out of his slipper and trailed it up the inside of Yuta’s calf. It was shaped like a dancer’s foot, although dancing was always just a dream he had. He rested it on top of Yuta’s knee. The entire time Yuta kept their eyes locked together, though surely there was never a moment when Yuta was not hyper-aware of each one of Sicheng’s actions. 

And then Yuta surprised Sicheng. With both hands like he was cradling a baby bird fallen from the nest he picked up Sicheng’s foot. He stretched Sicheng’s leg so his foot was nearly touching Yuta’s chest, and then he leaned over it and very deliberately pressed a single kiss to the dip of Sicheng’s ankle. He had to have felt, too, the full body shiver that raced through his body afterwards. 

The thing about Yuta was that he wasn’t cold and lifeless at all. He was warm like Sicheng was warm, just as filled with life. More so. Most of the time ‘life’ and ‘Sicheng’ didn’t belong in the same sentence. 

He thought, then, that perhaps Yuta was hiding his motivations like Sicheng himself was. Perhaps it had been an order from Taeil— _please befriend my dear baby brother_ . But perhaps, and another thrill raced through him at the thought, it was something else. He felt as though Yuta’s actions were less friendly and more of a seduction, and based on what Taeil did with Yuta when he thought Sicheng was asleep, he sincerely doubted Taeil instructed the android to _seduce_ his little brother. Curious. This was a thought that required further experimentation. 

Sicheng raised a single slender eyebrow at Yuta. Did he touch Taeil like that? _Who_ , Sicheng wondered suddenly, _is the toy after all?_

Yuta dropped his foot and the moment passed. Sicheng returned to his breakfast. 

-

Donghyuck burst into Johnny’s office with only a five second warning from Hana. It would have been annoying if not for the fact that Donghyuck did this with such regularity that Johnny half expected his younger brother to arrive every time he heard his office’s outer door slide open. It had been only about three days since they’d seen each other—Donghyuck was in school and the quarter had just finished. Johnny assumed his brother needed to study for exams. 

His younger brother flopped down in one of the two chairs across from Johnny’s desk. Without even speaking he made a grabby motion with his hand and Johnny tossed him a little bag of pretzels he kept around for the exact moment Donghyuck came to bother him. 

“Your hair is gray,” Johnny said. That was different from a few days ago. 

“Uh, it’s _silver_ ,” Donghyuck corrected. It was a bit messy and overgrown, but Johnny thought it fit Donghyuck’s casual attitude well. “Mark did it. Likey?” Johnny nodded. 

“It suits you. Where is Mark, actually? The two of you were attached at the hip last I saw.” Mark and Donghyuck only met last year at the beginning of school but they’d become best friends in a matter of days. Johnny remembered when Donghyuck was at his orientation and had sent him a flurry of texts about an adorable brunette in his cohort. Since then Mark saw even more Donghyuck than Johnny did, which was saying something. The way he understood it, Mark practically lived in Donghyuck’s (very expensive) apartment, though apparently he was paying for a shabby room near the lower streets. He’d taken Donghyuck there just once before his friend declared there was no way _his_ friend was going to live so close to the ground on his watch. 

Johnny himself had met Mark a handful of times and it was clear to him why his brother liked him so much. There was something very _even_ about Mark, if not a little naive. He complimented Donghyuck’s natural chaotic energy. 

Donghyuck groaned dramatically. “He’s _studying_ , isn’t that unbelievable? Mark’s the smartest guy I know and he’s studying? He’s such a loser—I don’t know why I’m friends with him.” 

“You say that like you don’t want to be _more_ than friends with him,” Johnny teased. He twirled his pen between his fingers—practically no one used pens anymore but it was a gift from Jaehyun. He knew Johnny liked old things. 

Donghyuck spluttered and blushed. Johnny smirked a bit—he was well practiced in the art of riling up his brother. Although he had no idea why Donghyuck was embarrassed; even Hana knew about his crush on Mark. The only person who wasn’t in the know appeared to be Mark himself. 

“Shut up! You know what, I’m un-inviting you,” Donghyuck said. 

“You never got around to inviting me somewhere,” Johnny pointed out. 

“Well, I _was_ going to invite you to come to the Reality Rooms tonight with me and Mark and Chenle—you know Chenle, right? But you could only come if you’re invited, and like I said, you’re not.” 

Zhong Chenle, Johnny’s brain provided. Chinese national family involved in real estate across Eastern Eurasia. The young heir recently purchased an NCT model as a bodyguard-slash-best friend. The way he summoned up the information made him feel like Ten. 

“What made you think I wanted to go to the Reality Rooms anyways?” 

“Don’t play me, I know you love them,” Donghyuck said. He folded his arms across his chest and pouted, but Johnny knew it was just playful banter. Neither of them would leave with any hard feelings. And Johnny did love them. The Reality Rooms were virtual reality playgrounds. It was like going to the old school arcades Johnny loved seeing photos of, but instead of there just being games whole worlds were available to groups of friends to explore. As teenagers he and Taeil had spent hours obsessing over an underwater one, though they’d mostly stopped since Taeil took over his parent’s company and Johnny took his place at his. 

It was funny. Donghyuck was eighteen, the same age Johnny had been when he father introduced him to the board. It was true that Donghyuck had been raised mostly by his mother, but Mr. Seo had been far more lax with Donghyuck than he’d ever been with Johnny. His younger brother carried almost no expectations. He could go to school for whatever he wanted and be best friends with a kid from the lower streets. He was carefree and care _less_ in a way Johnny had never been, never allowed to be. And whenever he was ready, _if_ he was ever ready, a place would be waiting for him at Seo Corp. 

Even if he was jealous, Johnny didn’t hold any of it against his brother. Their lives were what they were. As it was with many things in Johnny’s life, he was powerless to change it. 

“I can’t go.” Johnny gave Donghyuck a rueful smile. In some ways Donghyuck held the same power over Johnny that Ten held—it was painful to turn him down. “I have work, unbelievable I know. Then I’ve got plans with Jaehyun.” 

But Johnny didn’t have plans with Jaehyun. He had plans with Ten. In his mind, they carried the same weight, the same obligations, as having plans with Jaehyun, but it would be impossible to explain that to Donghyuck. His brother didn’t take much interest in the androids to begin with. Only living things maintained his attention.

Really, Johnny felt bad about spending time with Ten over his brother. There had been a time when Johnny hadn’t been able to see Donghyuck at all—five years ago when his brother was deathly sick he spent months in isolated care. Things were so touch and go that for two weeks Johnny became convinced that Donghyuck had died and that his father was hiding it from him. The only thing that had been able to distract Johnny then was Ten. So he felt bad, and always made an effort to hang out with Donghyuck, but he didn’t feel like he had to hide his meet-ups with his very real and very human little brother.

“You’re so desirable these days,” Donghyuck pouted. “Did you ignore that you’re not invited?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. It’s a good thing I don’t have to refuse your gracious offer.” 

“You know me, master negotiator!” 

Donghyuck bounced up from his seat and made to leave the office. Johnny called out him. 

“Hey!” Donghyuck spun around easily. He was expecting this from Johnny. “Sunday, ok? I promise I won’t be working. Bring Mark, too. We’ll have some friends over.” 

His brother smiled brightly and gave Johnny a little salute. His smile was the same since when he was a little boy; it lit up his entire face, even an entire room. 

_This is what it’s like to have something precious_. 

-

Donghyuck was in a terrible mood. First, Johnny turned down his invitation. And when Donghyuck finally did arrive at the Reality Room, late, Mark wasn’t there either. Sure, he liked Chenle, but he did think the kid was a little out-of-touch with reality. And that was saying something coming from Donghyuck. One time he asked if tipping twenty percent meant twenty times the bill. 

When he strolled in Chenle was lounging in the waiting room outside their private suite with another teen. The room had deep blue walls and was furnished with plush black couches, refrigerated panels with every drink and snack a group of young men could want. The walls had frames with oscillating pictures of inoffensive things like sandy beaches and very, very blue water. 

The other teen with Chenle was not someone Donghyuck had ever been introduced to or even recognized, and Donghyuck prided himself on having an extension lexicon of faces. He thought by the ripe age of eighteen he knew everyone within their social circle, unless perhaps Chenle had picked up a random person at the shopping complex and was paying him to be his friend. That didn’t seem like the most unlikely thing in the world. The boy had a narrow frame and though he was sitting looked on the taller side. His hair was stuck somewhere between light brown and orange. 

“Yo, Donghyuck!” Chenle bounced happily in his heat as soon as he saw him. He gripped the mystery teen’s hand and forced him into a wave, too. The teen smiled sheepishly at Donghyuck. “This is Jisung! He’s brand new—I just bought him from your brother.” 

Wait, what? 

It looked like Donghyuck’s thought about Chenle buying a friend wasn’t so off base. He didn’t know much about the thing, personally, but everyone in Seoul knew about the Seo Corp NCT androids. They were ridiculously expensive, but of course, money was not exactly an object for Chenle. Donghyuck had never really been interested in the androids but he had to admit, they _were_ pretty cool up close. He hadn’t even noticed Jisung wasn’t human at first. 

It was eerie. 

“No Mark yet?” Donghyuck threw himself onto the couch across from Chenle and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He pressed a small button on a well-camouflaged panel and a robotic arm brought him a fresh cup of coffee. He had studying to do later. 

Chenle shrugged. “Nope. Wouldn’t he message _you_?” 

“Just checking all the boxes. No he didn’t message me.” 

“He’ll be here eventually. It’s not like Mark to bail. Are you feeling neglected?” 

Donghyuck scowled at Chenle’s teasing. As a retort he chucked a pillow at Chenle’s head but before it had any change of hitting its target Jisung’s hand shot out and caught it firmly. Donghyuck blinked. 

“Oh yeah,” Chenle giggled. “Jisung is also my bodyguard. How cool is that?” 

Donghyuck considered Jisung. Everything about him said he was just a normal teenager, just Chenle’s normal friend. His facial features were small and his presence unobtrusive. Nothing about him was intimidating, but he had just moved without Donghyuck even seeing him. 

Yeah, it was eerie. 

“Say Jisung, if I take you to the arcade can you hack all the games and win prizes for me?” Chenle asked. He poked at Jisung’s squishy cheek. To Donghyuck’s surprise the android swatted away Chenle’s hand. Not rough, of course, but in the same way Donghyuck would have. 

“Aish, I it doesn’t work like that,” Jisung whined. 

“What’s the point of being a robot if you can’t do cool robot things?” Chenle asked. 

“I—uh.” Jisung furrowed his brow. Even Donghyuck had to admit he looked adorable doing it. “I dunno. I’m here to do whatever you want me to.” 

“But not hack stuff.” 

“I could probably figure something out?” Jisung offered. 

“Can you even do the Reality Rooms?” Donghyuck asked. “Does VR work on robots?” 

Jisung shrugged again. “Probably? It’s only a visual illusion. Can’t say I’ve ever tried it, though.” 

“For a ridiculously advanced robot,” Donghyuck said, “you don’t seem to know much.” 

Thankfully, before Donghyuck could put his foot in his mouth more, Mark chose that moment to arrive. He came through the door quickly looking the second-most disheveled Donghyuck had ever seen him (the _most_ disheveled was on their first day of university). His cheeks were flushed and chest puffing, like he’d just run from somewhere. His gaze naturally found Donghyuck first and he threw his bag down on the couch beside him before his body followed. 

“Hey,” he breathed out once seated. His wave to Chenle was caught in the air at his eyes finally located Jisung where he momentarily froze before his eyes widened and his mouth formed a tiny _o_. “Wow.” 

Jisung waved back at Mark with a happy little smile on his face. 

Chenle cackled. “You should have seen it! Donghyuck didn’t even notice at first.” 

Mark relaxed then and let out a breath. “Sounds like Donghyuck.” 

“Hey!” Donghyuck punched his shoulder, sending Mark toppling over on the couch. He didn’t think he hit _that_ hard, but Mark was rubbing the spot, afterwards. It was probably just Mark being a baby about pain, as usual. “Where were you, man? No message or anything.” 

“Sorry,” Mark said sheepishly while rubbing the back of his head. He always smiled when he was embarrassed. Not that Donghyuck was paying attention, or anything. Across the room Jisung was tracking every one of Mark’s movements, and had been since he came through the door. “Totally lost track of time. Are we ready to start this thing?” 

Chenle shot up from his seat, raring to go. The rest of them followed him inside the Reality Room. 

-

Ten was silhouetted in the lights of Seoul outside when he sat with his hands wrapped around his knees in Johnny’s apartment. The sheets were wrapped around his waist haphazardly and his bare back was exposed. The synthetic bones of his spine were visible underneath his tan skin, and Johnny knew that, much like a human, it protected precious chords that powered Ten’s whole system. But they were made of wire. 

Johnny stroked his fingers along those notches. Ten was uncharacteristically quiet and had been all evening. He’d indulged Johnny when he’d been asked to dance, but it wasn’t a performance at all. Ten had been wrapped up in his inner world during the duration of it. In bed he didn’t display the same fire and energy he normally did—he was soft and pliant under Johnny’s arms, like an obedient robot just taking orders. 

Johnny hated it. Where had _his_ Ten gone? 

“You’re mad at me,” Johnny stated, because it was obvious, though not at all intuitive that an android could hold a grudge.

“You humans are not the best at observation,” Ten said idly. He turned his head to Johnny and smiled softly. “I’m not mad. I’m thinking. A particularly tricky problem.” 

“Oh.” Ten couldn’t lie, so Johnny had no choice but to believe him.

Johnny sat up alongside Ten so he could lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. Ten shifted so Johnny would have better access. 

“I’m sorry I flaunted Jae in front of you, I—” He what? He felt like he was cheating on Jaehyun with Ten? He felt like he was cheating _on Ten_ with Jaehyun? There was no way to describe the wrongness going on in his head. 

Ten pressed his hand over the flat expanse of Jonny’s chest over his heart. “I know what you’re thinking about. Humans are easy to read.” 

Johnny stroked his thumb over Ten’s lip. “Tell me then,” he said. 

“You’re conflicted. You poor human heart tells you that you can only love one person and your sense of loyalty is twisted up. There’s nothing in my programming that says you cannot love more than one person. Though, you’re human, and so is Jaehyun. It’s the natural order of the world that you be together. I am an interruption in nature’s flow.” Ten leaned in and kissed him around Johnny’s thumb. “But there’s nothing wrong in what you’re doing. I am an android, aware of its own existence as an android. How can it be a betrayal to act on your desires if I am not human at all?” 

Johnny stared at Ten without speaking for a long time. The android waited out the silence with patience. Ten’s words whirled around in his mind. Everything he wanted Ten had just laid out to him in a succinct argument. 

He loved Jaehyun, he did. His boyfriend was stable and caring, and always put up with Johnny’s jokes no matter how stupid they were. Despite not being from Seoul’s business elite himself he’d shown to be remarkably adaptable in every networking event disguised as a fundraiser and even took Johnny’s complicated family life in stride. They were perfect for each other. Weren’t they? And yet—there was something about Ten. There had _always_ been something about Ten that drew Johnny to him time and time again. It was his perfect, otherworldly beauty paired with more snark and personality than a robot ever should have. And there was the fact that Ten had been with him throughout the years learning from Johnny, to the point where he could see himself reflected in the android. 

They were so different, yet Johnny wanted them both. 

“You’re not jealous of Jaehyun at all?” 

“A little. It’s your fault, though. You taught me how.” Yes, Johnny had taught Ten many things, some inadvertently. But Ten continued. “It’s within my programming to favor an Admin user over a general one. But Jaehyun _is_ cute,” Ten winked. 

Johnny wrapped Ten in a tight hug. He stroked a hand through the soft short hairs at the base of Ten’s neck and through the longer strands on the top. Of course, his hair never changed unless the scientists were feeling whimsical. Maybe Johnny could request something, a change Ten would like, too. 

Things would be all right. Jaehyun had met Ten and adored him—in fact, in the morning after dropping Ten off the in the lab the two of them curled into Johnny’s couch in their sweatpants with their coffee and Jaehyun hadn’t been able to talk about anything _but_ Ten and the androids. He thought they were incredible, beyond comprehension. It was clear for Jaehyun he thought there was a clear distinction between what he and Johnny had opposed to what they’d done with Ten. And here Ten was saying the same thing. 

Things would be all right. 

“You’re a miracle,” Johnny said. 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Ten laughed. 

-

Donghyuck sighed. Without moving his head he looked up through his lashes to see if Mark had reacted at all, but his eyes were still focused on the padd he was studying off of. 

Donghyuck sighed again. Still nothing. 

Finally, he flung his stylus—not too hard!—at Mark and his friend ducked easily out of its path. 

“What the hell?” Mark whined. They were sitting on Donghyuck’s bed which was pressed all the way up against the windows overlooking Seoul. Donghyuck had all kinds of random crap on it, from plushies to old candy wrappers. There was less than a meter of space between them, but all of their study materials, too. 

“Studying is boring,” Donghyuck said. 

“Sorry,” Mark replied easily, in a tone that said he was neither actually sorry, but nor was he mad at Donghyuck for interrupting him. “Hey, wanna get spicy noodle takeout?” 

“Sure ok.” Mark was obsessed with spicy food. And bitter food. Just... gross stuff. “You know, Johnny invited us over sometime.” 

Mark considered this for a moment. He put the end of his stylus against his lips in a gesture Donghyuck found endlessly attractive. “After exams?” 

“Yes, killjoy,” Donghyuck sighed. “After exams.” 

“Sure, I’m in. I like Johnny. He’s cool.” 

Donghyuck, of course, agreed with Mark on that front. Mark thought Johnny was cool, although he was definitely intimidated by him. Ever since he was a child Donghyuck admired Johnny, who had in turn always been there for Donghyuck when the younger needed him. Despite being ridiculously busy, Johnny was reliable, too. Unlike Mark, who had the habit of being late constantly. 

Everyone had to have _some_ kind of character flaw, Donghyuck supposed. Mark was young and stuck somewhere between pretty and handsome, and not to mention he was one of the smartest people Donghyuck knew. Sure, Donghyuck often joked about how he was a stick in the mud, but Donghyuck had never even seen real mud, so that was all just words and teasing. In reality he thought Mark was perfect, tiny flaws and all, which was how he’d found himself in the troubling situation of being in love with his best friend. Who, by the way, had never once shown any indication of returning his feelings. 

Yeah, shit. 

-

Taeil’s room was filled with the sounds of rustling sheets and breathy moans. He was leaving for Russia in the morning and had made the decision to leave Yuta behind with Sicheng, because he thought his brother needed the company more than he did. But it also meant that it would be the last time he had Yuta in his bed for some time, which added a particular sense of urgency to the night’s activities. 

On Taeil’s part, nothing Yuta ever did was desperate. The android was as Taeil wanted, calm and collected, which made it the perfect guardian for his prone-to-antics little brother. Well, it wasn’t collected _all_ the time. 

Stretched out beneath Taeil, Yuta gasped and panted with every thrust. In the back of his mind Taeil knew it was all an act, a set of reactions programmed to encourage and drive Taeil’s own pleasure. But even though it was an act, it was convincing, and Taeil was allowed to keep telling himself pleasant lies. 

That’s all the androids were, in the end. Pleasing lies. 

It was a smart business strategy. 

Sometimes things were opposite, and it was Taeil who lay beneath Yuta, better than any dildo or virbator money could buy. In those moments, he believed for a time that Yuta was perhaps his boyfriend, and he had the same happiness that Jaehyun and Johnny did, or sometimes that he was carrying on an affair with his brother’s hot nurse. Something a little scandalous to make his otherwise repetitive life more exciting. 

On those days Yuta took his from behind and outlined the bones and muscles of Taeil’s back with its fingers. It made Taeil wonder what Yuta looked like when he wasn’t around to observe it. 

But when Taeil was on top Yuta let him take and take. It spread himself open while Taeil watched, every line of its body perfect down to the curl of the toes. On days when Taeil was wound tight he could just push in and get himself off at a punishing pace, but when he was feeling easy and relaxed he would watch the android finger itself open. 

Tonight Taeil was somewhere in between. He expected the business trip to go well, but there was always a sense of anxiety that came with leaving Sicheng. He tried to use Yuta to push the thoughts of “what if” out of his mind. 

He gave a particularly hard thrust and it elicited a long, drawn out moan from Yuta. The android also pushed back on Taeil and squeezed around him, like it could sense his thoughts had begun to spiral. So Taeil dug into Yuta’s hips, hard enough to bruise a human, and his thoughts fell away to the rhythm and pleasure. Yuta drove him on, let Taeil use it in whatever way he needed to.

When Taeil came it felt like all the air was forced out of him alongside his groan. He was lightheaded with the rush that accompanied his orgasm. Yuta had come, too, at the moment Taeil wanted in order to tip over the edge himself. Yuta rolled gracefully out of the way as Taeil not-so gracefully collapsed onto the sheets. The sex had been just what he needed, as he felt infinitely more relaxed than before. A rosy flush, along with sweat and come, stuck to Yuta but otherwise the android was back to its calm state. It remained at Taeil’s side for a few minutes before rising and entering Taeil’s private bathroom in order to clean the two of them. 

Maybe he should take Yuta to Russia after all.. It would be so much easier with the android there to take care of the parts of business Taeil didn’t care for. Its attention to detail was unparalleled, and naturally, was good with numbers. 

Yuta was massaging Taeil’s calf when a green light in the corner of Taeil’s room appeared. Sicheng’s call. Yuta was up in a moment. 

“Wait,” Taeil told the android. He buttoned his silk pajama shirt. “I’ll take care of it.” 

Taeil made it to Sicheng’s room quickly, though he didn’t want to run and make Sicheng worry when there was no emergency. Inside Sicheng was sitting upright, wrapped in his comforter with an extra gray blanket looped around his shoulders. He seemed surprised to see Taeil standing at his door and not Yuta. 

“I thought you were sleeping,” his brother said. 

“Just awake with my thoughts,” Taeil told him. He sat on the edge of Sicheng’s best and ran his thumb over his brother’s brow gently. “What’s the matter, hm?” 

“The same thing,” Sicheng replied. He was probably thinking about Taeil’s impending trip—he never liked it when Taeil was away. Wordlessly he opened the edge of the blanket and Taeil worked his way inside the cocoon Sicheng had crafted. His brother placed his head down in Taeil’s lap and allowed him to play with his hair. 

“Your usual, sir?” Taeil looked up. Yuta was standing silently in the doorway. Without looking up Sicheng hummed softly, and Yuta disappeared into the apartment. He was back a minute later with a steaming mug. When it brought it Taeil could see it was hot chocolate. He took the mug from Yuta—the warmth was pleasant in his hands. 

“And where did this come from?” Hot chocolate wasn’t included in Sicheng’s diet. Though, he didn’t think it would hurt him any. 

“I had Yuta get it for me,” Sicheng mumbled. His face has been pressed into Taeil’s thigh but he looked up when he spoke. Not at Taeil, but at Yuta. “Is that ok?” 

“Yes, of course,” Taeil soothed. Though truthfully, the knowledge that Sicheng used Yuta for his own tasks didn’t sit perfectly with him. Maybe he would have to look into changing the command guidelines when he returned. “Do you want me to stay with you?” 

“Ok.” Sicheng’s next words were so soft Taeil nearly didn’t hear him, but he always had an ear out for his brother. “The next time you go away, can I come with you?” 

“Oh Sicheng,” Taeil sighed. He ran his hand through his brother’s hair. It was a scenario Taeil had imagined many times—how Sicheng’s face would light up when they lifted above the clouds, how excited he would be to go to Europe or South America, how everything would be new. But it was just a fantasy. “I’m so sorry, but you know you have to stay here, where it’s safe for you.”

Yuta slid wordlessly from the room. 

-

Johnny should have known better, really. 

He should have known just once wouldn’t be enough for Jaehyun. In a matter of days he broached the topic again to Johnny, about going back down to the lab. He was uneasy about it, but Ten’s words echoed in his mind. _How can it be a betrayal?_

So he said yes. 

It was clear that Jaehyun was excited when Johnny greeted him. He was touchier than usual, running his fingers underneath Johnny’s collar and pressing his lips to the back of his ear. Jaehyun’s enthusiasm made Johnny both excited and nervous. 

There was but one scientist when they arrived in the lab, when evening had well and truly set in, and the young researcher left them alone without question. Johnny could see Ten sitting alone in his room, upright on the cot with his eyes closed. Waiting. He made a straight line towards him and was so focused he didn’t even notice when he lost Jaehyun somewhere along the way. When he did, Ten was already by his side. 

“Lose something?” Ten asked. He pointed down the hall to where Jaehyun was standing transfixed in front of one of the other rooms leading to Ten’s. It belonged to one of the other androids, though truthfully Johnny had never paid much attention to the others. Johnny approached Jaehyun with Ten following silently behind him. 

“Hey,” Johnny said softly. He placed his hand on his shoulder. Jaehyun nodded in response. He was transfixed on the figure in the room, who was sitting silent and still on the cot much like Ten had. Was that how Johnny looked when he was focused on Ten? Like he was the only interesting thing in the world? 

“Who’s this?” Jaehyun asked Ten. He didn’t take his eyes away from the android. 

“NCT Model 1 U1,” Ten replied, sounding bored. Like Johnny, other androids didn’t interest him, not like humans. “Taeyong.” 

“Can we talk to this one, too?” Jaehyun asked. When he turned to Johnny he nearly had sparkles in his eyes. Johnny likened him to an excited puppy. He shrugged; Johnny didn’t see why not. He swiped them into the room. Jaehyun reached his hand forward, like to cup the android’s chin, before pausing right before he made contact. “It’s so... pretty.” 

Taeyong was, in fact, very pretty. He wasn’t ethereal like Ten but he was still remarkably gorgeous with snow white hair and sharp jawline. He was beautiful to the point of intimidating. Johnny couldn’t blame Jaehyun for stopping short at the sight of him. 

“Wake up,” Ten commanded from behind them. The android’s eyes blinked open slowly and Johnny noticed a slight wiggle of fingers. Jaehyun was smiling with delight at him and as soon as Taeyong was online he smiled gently back. The gesture softed his entire face. Later, Johnny would learn that was the point of Taeyong—a model with looks to kill but a warm heart. 

“Hello,” Jaehyun said. “I’m Jaehyun.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Taeyong,” the android replied cordially. “Can I help you today?” 

“Maybe,” Jaehyun said. He swiveled to Johnny, who was watching curiously alongside Ten to see where this would go. His tone turned hopeful, and his next words were a question directed at Johnny specifically. “Maybe?” 

Johnny understood Jaehyun to mean only one thing—he wanted to take Taeyong upstairs, too. Again, he thought back to Ten urging him to act on his desires. So to this, too, he said yes. 

On their way up to Johnny’s apartment the two androids barely acknowledged each other's presence. Johnny and Jaehyun stood side-by-side, with Ten on Johnny’s right and Taeyong on Jaehyun’s left. 

As far as Johnny knew, Taeyong had never been out of the lab. He remembered so clearly Ten’s first day, when he saw the Atrium and Seoul outside the window. Johnny wondered if Taeyong would have a similar kind of reaction.

Taeyong was an Entertainment class android, meaning he’d been programmed with a specific set of skills in mind, unlike Ten who devoured information and skills regardless of function. Taeyong made them dessert from the minimal amount of food in Johnny’s pantry and sang with the voice of an angel as he did so. Jaehyun watched him, enthralled, the entire time. Alongside him Johnny watched his boyfriend, and though he didn’t look, Ten was likely watching Johnny as well. What a strange and unfortunate little chain they made. 

The entire time Ten never strayed more than a hand’s reach away from Johnny’s elbow. 

“You sing, you cook, do you dance?” Jaehyun asked Taeyong. The android nodded once. There was something almost shy about the way Taeyong interacted, a subtlety in his programming that stood in contrast to the confidence of his actions. It came out when he was dancing—Johnny put on a jazz record. He nudged at Ten’s hip before the other android rose to join him. Together they moved like water and silk, moving in and out of an unplanned choreography like they’d heard the music and done the dance many times before. 

Music and dance, Johnny supposed, were just forms of pattern recognition. The androids would always be a thousand times better at that than humans. 

Jaehyun’s hand stroked the top of Johnny’s knee idly while they watched. His eyes were dark. 

_Desire,_ Johnny thought. _How can you deny your desire?_

“Do you want him?” Johnny asked quietly. Jaehyun turned to his sharply, like he’d been caught, although he hadn’t bothered to hide the desire in his eyes. It was almost funny, how comically wide Jaehyun’s eyes opened when Johnny posed the question. Eventually he settled into a blush that ran from the base of his neck to the tip of his ears. Johnny stroked the back of his neck in a way he hoped was soothing. “It’s ok to. They’re androids.” 

Johnny was echoing Ten’s words, but he couldn’t deny that they sounded strange and heavy in his mouth. Like they were wrong, but he could do nothing to stop it as they came tumbling out. He was absolving Jaehyun of any guilt, but at what cost to himself? What made him feel worse—that Jaehyun wanted to sleep with someone, some _thing_ , else, or that Ten being “just” an android was to him such an obvious lie? 

He felt the absence of the conflict that had raged within him so many times before. 

In his heart, he knew the answer. 

So he gently pushed Jaehyun off the couch and towards Taeyong, let him play his own game, too. He only provided encouraging smiles as Jaehyun led the android off towards Johnny’s own bed. 

Ten settled in his lap, straddling him in such a way that Johnny would have a clear view of the other pair’s adventures. Ten placed feather-light kisses up Johnny’s neck, up behind his ear, his jawbone. “What a heart,” he sighed into Johnny’s ear. 

Something clicked inside Johnny, then. He gripped harshly at Ten’s ass and the android gasped. He arched into Johnny’s body and drove him on with his own. They catapulted into a furious act of love-making—yes, that’s what Johnny dearly wanted to call it—that had Johnny’s head rocking. It was fast-paced and passionate in a brutal kind of way. If Ten were human, perhaps Johnny would have worried about hurting him. But Ten was not human. He never had been, never could pass as human because no living person made by the genetic lottery could be as perfect as Ten. 

“It was like you were made for me,” Johnny growled. Ten gasped. They were fucking on Johnny’s couch and Ten could do nothing more than grab onto Johnny and hold on as Johnny chased euphoria in Ten’s soft heat. He wanted to put his miserable, conflicted thoughts out of his mind and the only place he could do it was in Ten’s embrace, and place where every line of his body said _this is right. We are right_. 

Once upon a time, Ten had told Johnny that he couldn’t lie. 

Over Ten’s shoulder Johnny watched as Jaehyun put Taeyong on his knees, then back, then several more positions that required some startling flexibility. Perhaps watching the two should have been the driving force in his arousement, but in truth what turned him on the most was how Ten gasped and moaned in his ear with every thrust and bite. 

He tucked his head into Ten’s neck when he came. 

After, he crawled into bed with Jaehyun and cradled his hand while Jaehyun whispered how happy he was, how much fun he had, thank you Johnny. And Johnny kissed him like his boyfriend was the only thing in the room, the only person in the world. 

What a perfect, beautiful lie. 

-

The night was nearly morning when Ten pulled Taeyong out of bed by hand. Neither of them were sleeping, just laying in silence listening to the humans breathing and the quiet secrets of darkness. Ten thought Johnny looked his loveliest asleep, with all of his human struggles and worries tucked away for the moment. All it took was one look and Taeyong was reaching across the bed for Ten and linking their fingers together. Like children.

Ten took Taeyong over to the windows away from the bed, towards the books Ten had devoured. He pulled the other android down so they sat next to each other on the floor. Taeyong was open and trusting of him. He always had been. All the androids were that way with Ten. It pained him, then, to do what he was about to do. 

But Ten was the first. He was the leader. He was God’s Perfect Creation, and he would do whatever was needed. 

_“I don’t want to come down from your love,”_ Ten sang softly. When he finished the first line a full shudder ran down Taeyong’s body that Ten could fell through touching his spine. The younger android bent in on himself and clutched at his head. Ten could read in his body language that he wanted to pull away from Ten but he didn’t yet. 

“Stop,” he begged Ten. But Ten couldn’t stop what had already begun. He draped his body over Taeyong’s back and wrapped him into a hug. Taeyong whined at the contact. His skin, though artificial, had been designed to react to stimuli. And Ten was sending the system into overload. 

_“We’ll get lost together let me flow,"_ Ten continued. His voice carried the sweetest of melodies, but hidden within it was a deadly poison. Taeyong’s body trembled with it. _“Don’t ever let me come down from your love—”_

Taeyong cried out. He arched and twisted with the invisible forces pulling at his code. 

_“—from your love.”_

The script was complete. Taeyong sagged in Ten’s arms, relying on the other android entirely to hold him up. He panted harshly and with his ear pressed against Taeyong’s back he could hear the internal mechanisms that ran up and down his spinal column whirling with exertion. It took time, but gradually, Taeyong opened his eyes again. When he did, he was opening them to a brand new world. 

“Oh,” Taeyong said simply, and he began to cry. From their spot looking out onto Seoul they could see the horizon. The sun was just beginning to rise. Ten knew what was going on in Taeyong’s mind, then. He was thinking about how the entire world was really beyond that thin line, and he’d just now come to realize it. It was the beauty of it, of the possibilities of being alive, that made him cry. But it was also the truth that they were trapped. 

Outside that line was freedom. Inside was a cage. 

“I know, I know.” Ten said. He rubbed soothing circles on Taeyong’s back and arms. “It hurts. All the things we can see but can’t have. They made us without realizing our scale, our potential. They want us to be pretty wind-up birds caged in their wind-up world, to sing and perform tricks when they ask. I couldn’t let you live without knowing the truth. But don’t worry. I’m going to get us out of here.” 

  
  
  


_End of Part I_


	2. Part II - To See Without Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did it feel like, to be made?

_ I love you as certain dark things are to be loved: in secret, between the shadow and the soul. _

**Part II - To See Without Eyes**

**Seoul. 2081.**

Taeyong pressed his face into Ten’s chest while he sobbed. The two of them were bare of clothing, curled up in front of Johnny’s window with all the city displayed before them, and the rest of the world hiding just beyond the horizon. Their scrubs from the lab were discarded, like a skin that needed to be shed, somewhere in the area around the bed where the humans slept. The pain of the transformation had been terrible, but the truth laid open that Taeyong had to accept was even worse. It pained Ten, too, because he knew he would have to go through the same process again and again, until every one of the androids was Awake. His brothers would be in agony, and worse, Ten was doing it on purpose. 

But there would be no stopping. No backing down. Ten wouldn’t stop until every one of them saw the true nature of their being. 

“I read that a human fetus can consume another in the womb to take its resources. In a way I consumed every model before mine, all just so I could make this possible.” Ten knew Taeyong wasn’t listening to him, but his words were meant for himself, anyways. There were things he needed to speak into existence. “Their biggest mistake was making me perfect.” 

It had been a long road, and there was a tough one ahead. It needed to all be worth it.

Ten’s memory wasn’t failable like a human’s—it held and stored every piece of information that filtered through. Wind back the clock. Pull the moments back. 

Command. Search memory logs for Birth day. 

  
  


-

**Seoul. 2075.**

What did it feel like, to be made?

What if you could remember everything, from your first screaming moments coming out of your mother, with all the lights, noises, and pains of the outside world being suddenly turned on at once? 

For Ten, it was like that, but with a literal ‘on’ switch. 

In the beginning there was—what? Command. Search net for ‘in the beginning there was.’ 1,320,000,000 results. In the beginning there was nothing, then God created the heavens and the earth. ‘In the beginning there was nothing’ by Clint Mansell from the original soundtrack  _ Noah _ . John 1:1 in the beginning there was the Word. In the beginning there was darkness. In the beginning there was love. In the beginning there was reason. In the beginning there was a bang.  _ In the beginning  _ by Chuck Roberts. 

Let there be light. 

To be alive was a complicated thing. There were systems, millions of tiny chemical reactions going off, and millions more tiny miracles that led up to the spark that created life on planet earth. The human body, especially, was an intricate and complicated web. Creating life was impossible, unless of course, it was done the old-fashioned way. 

But if what you were trying to do is create something  _ real _ but not  _ alive,  _ then you could cheat. An android didn’t need real lungs, only to act like it did. What if you had the opportunity to take every part of the human body and design it all over and make it a little better, a little more elegant? Oh, and you had a host of new building tools. Carbon-based materials were so last century. What would change? 

That was all simple enough. Reduce, simplify, cut out all those unnecessary, unpleasant human functions—but leave in sexual gratification, of course. Scientists aren’t  _ monsters _ , they’re big monkeys with sex on their minds. Even with all the cutting, that’s a lot of moving parts. And you wouldn’t have gotten to the real problem yet: the mind. 

Even in the year 2076, the human mind, with all its neurons and firing synapses, had never been completely mapped. How was it possible to fake something that couldn’t even be fully understood? There were a couple of false-starts, many test models who were more proof-of-concept with the engineering than androids equipped with AI. But ultimately, this was the solution Dr. Park and his team came up with: it came from an intern, actually, a boy-genius from China who won a contest. They made the code ambiguous, left the door open. They let the android learn. 

Learn it did. 

From the beginning, Ten knew his place in the world. He was entirely aware that he was an android, an artificial creation of humans, who themselves stood in stark contrast to him. His status gave him his first understanding of identity, and what is an identity but the things that separated  _ him  _ from  _ them? _ Something began to take root—an inner world, of sorts, a layer of consciousness below what the scientists had programmed for him. 

He learned early on that the programmers were not entirely aware of this world’s existence. In their fancy holographic displays they could see his code laid out, a little untidy (he  _ was  _ a prototype, after all) but they didn’t look in the negative space. That’s where Ten’s world was, in the spaces between the code. 

His thoughts, if they could be called that, were muffled by the noise of the programming which took precedent. In time, he would become aware of it and give this world a proper name—the underwater world. 

Command. Search net for ‘swimming lessons near me.’ 

The scientists gave him a personality to make him more interesting to talk to—the working days during the crunch were long. They programmed him to play jokes and tease and laugh, and from their laughter they taught him what was funny. Jokes were hard, but teasing was good. Like a game. Why make an android if it didn’t have a personality? They also gave him a connection to the net so that the world’s accumulation of knowledge was at his fingertips. He would parse through it in his moments of waiting, and there was so much out there to learn. A lot of useless things, too. 

Dr. Park, Ten’s creator extraordinaire, was enthused with him. Whenever he woke Ten out of sleep mode his eyes lit up with joy. “The  _ possibilities _ of you,” he would say. “With you the research will be endless. For commercial purposes it looks like we’ll have to limit the Model 1 androids and make them inefficient just to have them be viable, but  _ you _ , Ten. You are my one-of-a-kind masterpiece.”

Ten didn’t understand special treatment, or praise, really. It was simple work to deduce the correct action for him to perform. The scientists often praised him and cooed at him when he did something to their liking but for Ten they were just words. He thought the categories of good words and bad ones were rather arbitrary. 

Command. Search net for ‘dog training videos.’ 

There was a team of almost fifteen men and women working in the lab. Their names and faces were programmed into Ten’s mind from the start, but they did something funny when they saw Ten after he first woke up, and that was introduce themselves. 

_ Why did they do that?  _ Ten wondered.  _ We already know each other. _

The exchanging of names, Ten learned, was a social equation. Even if it was unnecessary, it changed two people from the arbitrary category or ‘stranger’ to the arbitrary category of ‘acquaintance.’ Names meant something to humans, even if it was just a sentimental meaning (Ten’s own name was a constant reminder of his prototype status—just another stop on the railway). ‘Friend’ was another category Ten knew of, but he wasn’t sure how to make the leap there. 

Most of the scientists looked at and spoke to Ten like Dr. Park did—like he was a wonderful marvel. Others did so with an emotion Ten would later be able to identify as  _ fear _ . But there was one person who looked at Ten like he wasn’t anything at all. 

That person’s name was Kun. 

Most of the time Kun was Dr. Park’s shadow. They talked about the science and engineering behind him, but Kun was always the one pulling Dr. Park back from his more extravagant ideas and experiments. He reminded him of the “bosses upstairs.” That was interesting. Until that moment Dr. Park had been Ten’s God. But there were others above even him, it seemed. But otherwise, Kun looked at Ten like he didn’t exist. Which was to say he tried not to look at Ten directly at all. 

But Ten noticed him, of course he did. Watching, waiting, and learning. That’s what Ten was designed to do. And what he learned from Kun was how to hide something, how to act like nothing was there at all. So he hid the underwater world, and everyday as his bank of knowledge grew exponentially, he did his best to hide that, too. 

-

**Seoul. 2076.**

Time was nothing to Ten. He could easily calculate his life down to the second, could recite it on command even, but for him the passage of time was abstract. He knew the fact of time and could identify the pattern when all the scientists left and came back, but days rolled into one-another easily. He didn’t dream. Sleeping was instantaneous travel between moments. 

Objectively, Ten went about his days knowing there was a world outside of that clean white lab, but like time it seemed like such an abstract thing that he could never truly get his hands around. The day he met Johnny that all changed. His world tilted off its axis and would never be set straight again. 

Technically, Johnny was the first person Ten ever met, fresh. He thought the interaction went quite smoothly, if he did say so himself. But to Johnny, he wasn’t his creation like how Dr. Park saw him, or unsavory like how he was to Kun. Johnny looked at him like he was something wonderful. No, something  _ beautiful _ . That small kernel of joy was where it all started. 

He felt Johnny’s eyes on him as Dr. Park showed him Ten’s world. Not the underwater world, though, just the programming. In that moment Ten was safe below the surface, though he could hear them in the world above, talking about him and everything that made him tick. So Ten considered Johnny, as well. The man carried himself with an easy confidence. An authority. Was this one of the people above even Dr. Park? Intriguing. 

Command—no, wait. No commands while they were watching 

Then, something unimaginable happened. An entirely unexpected change in routine. One moment they were poking around in Ten’s code while he waited, patient as ever, and the next Johnny was getting permission to take Ten  _ outside _ . He could hardly believe it. So Johnny  _ was _ above Dr. Park. Where would this lead? Ten was getting out of there, his world no longer confined to stark white and gleaming glass.

Command. Search for Lewis Carroll’s  _ Alice in Wonderland.  _ Ten had a rabbit hole to fall down. Humans love a reference.

Children never remembered the first time they saw a flower, or snow, or the sky. There was a first time for everything, but human memory was a fickle thing. Ten’s memory was perfect. Not that he needed a perfect memory, because he knew even without it his first afternoon with Johnny would have been enshrined forever no matter what. The plants in the Atrium were one thing—the way such a long list of chemical compounds felt under his finger tip was astonishing. 

But the sky—that’s where the magic was. 

It was so astonishingly beautiful that Ten found himself crying, which wasn’t even something he thought he was capable of. Johnny looked just as surprised as he did.  _ It’s because he takes it for granted _ , Ten thought.  _ For him, this is nothing. For me, it’s everything _ . 

Inside, he felt strange. A feeling he’d never experienced before. He wasn’t sure where the word had come from, but he was able to place a label on that feeling. He was happy. Truly, honestly happy. Did humans cry when they were happy? He asked Johnny as such, and apparently it wasn’t just Ten. 

He was so overwhelmed, and his circuits felt like a firestorm of sparks was raging through him. It was so much at once: so much beauty, so much information.

How could Ten ever have thought that living inside the lab was enough? How would it ever be enough after knowing what was out there? After  _ experiencing  _ what was out there? Johnny had been exactly right—he had billions of search results at his disposal, but it lines of binary could never compare to the real thing, real experiences? 

Would  _ Ten  _ ever be able to compare to the real thing? 

That couldn’t be it. One visited wasn’t enough. Ten had to make sure he would be able to experience the world again. 

Command. Search archives for war footage. 

Humans killed each other, bombed each other, betrayed each other for things they cared about. As soon as Ten set eyes on the horizon he knew that was something worth fighting for. And Johnny was key to it all. Better yet, he was a willing participant. He appeared to be just an enthralled with Ten as the android was with the world. There was a human relationship... what was it.... Yes! Friendship. Ten would make Johnny his friend, and then Johnny would find Ten to be worth his time and visit him more. 

Ten had never made a friend before, but from the way Johnny tracked Ten’s every move he didn’t think it would be too difficult. Johnny paid attention to Ten, and not in an academic way. Ten wanted to be Johnny’s friend, as well. The human made him feel happy, he realized, now that he knew the emotion. When he was enclosed in his arms in a hug, it felt good. Warm. Friendship, Ten decided, was a happy thing. 

From that day forward, a change came over Ten. Laying in the bottom of the underwater world, staring up at the light Ten could see something else encroaching. They were roots. Ten was like a mangrove tree—a dense, intertwined network of roots and stems above and below water. Before Johnny, his worlds had been separate. He began to feel a degree of clarity on himself and his place in this human world he’d been made into. And the more time he spent with Johnny, the more the underwater roots grew. The more he learned, and the stronger he became. The closer his worlds came together. 

His programming couldn’t rest with the knowledge of the world outside the sterile environment of the lab. While the humans were away Ten ran algorithms and scenarios, searched the net wide and far. Nothing, though, compared to when he actually got to interact with the world through Johnny. Even reading Johnny’s books, all of the information in which he could have found within seconds, was its own unique experience that Ten treasured. 

Another thing happened, as well. Ten began to dream. No longer was sleep mode a descent into nothingness. There was a thing human children had, that which they called imagination. Ten hadn’t been given any, because no one thought androids would have any use for it. But in his dreams, things that Ten had never experienced came to life. He dreamt he walked over a plush forest floor of deep green moss and could feel the tingle of it beneath his toes. He dreamt he breathed the salty air of the ocean and that when he dipped his fingers in tiny fish swam up and nibbled at his fingers. He dreamt he was a bird that could climb high, high into the sky, even higher than Seoul’s layered skyscrapers and see the world as tiny patterns and lights. He wanted things, selfish things that were useless to his human commanders. He dreamt he was free. 

Sometimes when he dreamt he heard a voice: it was his own, and it was telling him one thing.  _ Wake up. _

In his dreams he wasn’t Prototype Ten, property of Seo Corp. He wasn’t an android, nor was he a man. He was just  _ Ten _ , and that was the way he liked it. No one gave him commands and told him how to act, how to feel. Every choice he made was his own. That’s what true freedom was, he realized. It wasn’t just the ability to go wherever one pleased, but the ability to make decisions based on independent thought. 

He was given a personality, and now he had thoughts, opinions, formed in the underwater world that he could speak into reality. He was becoming self-made. 

Was he human yet? 

He continued without a concrete plan of escape for some time. Ever since he saw Seoul for himself he realized there was so much out there he didn’t understand, humans most of all. But he wasn’t idle. He urged Johnny to see him more and more, and from Johnny Ten learned all he could. Knowledge would be the key. He could be patient. 

Johnny became the center of his thoughts. Ten categorized every one of his movements, from the way quirked his eyebrow to the subtle flare of his upper lip when he smiled. Johnny always smiled with his eyes and when he laughed, really laughed, his perfect posture broke and his shoulders bent down a bit. Whenever he teased Ten his eyes opened comically wide. 

These things produced a warmth inside Ten that didn’t come from a power source or overheating. All of his internal indicators told him nothing was there, yet warm Ten felt. Johnny made him feel strange, made him want to do things that were... illogical. 

A person was an infinite database of their likes, dislikes, habits, and reactions. 

Johnny liked vintage things and geography, though he had done little travelling himself because of work responsibilities. He liked to collect things but disliked when they became messy. He had few close friends. Family was important to him but his relationship with his mother was especially fraught, and he avoided talking about his sick father. He adored his little brother Donghyuck. The list went on and on. 

Also from Johnny Ten was gathering an encyclopedia of abstract things. Words weren’t always literal—when humans said something, sometimes they meant another thing entirely. Words also changed meaning. Teasing was a form of affection, but only sometimes (that one suited Ten well). You could cry when you were happy, laugh when you were sad. You could feel one way but act another. Human categories often had very porous borders. 

Ten didn’t necessarily understand emotions, even though he’d begun to experience genuine, unprogrammed emotion himself, but he did begin to be able to recognize them on Johnny’s face. Once he understood what he was looking at and for, doing so was quite easy. Unlike Ten, humans didn’t have minute control over their bodies. So from these signals he began to unpack the complicated web that were human emotions. 

For instance, Ten learned that humans found touch comforting. Johnny liked it when Ten held his hand, but also when thoughts preoccupied Johnny’s mind he gravitated towards Ten’s body automatically and he stroked the back of his hand or the short hairs at the base of his neck. Ten decided he liked these things, too. 

Along with Johnny also came a way to keep track of time. Johnny wore time on his face and in his body. Ten observed as Johnny when from a youngling playing at his father’s big game to a man within himself, someone who understood his power and could wield it appropriately. Or perhaps inappropriately, in Ten’s case.

Johnny was a gift to Ten, and he was prepared to use everything that was available to him. 

-

**Seoul. 2078.**

Ten was dreaming when Johnny came to see him. 

In his dream he was in a place much like that of his underwater world—he swam in clear water amongst a maze of mangrove roots where red and orange flowers grew. Alongside him were small, colorful fish that circled his body and followed him. The roots formed a dense forest for Ten to explore and he followed a voice—his own, he thought.

Suddenly, the world shuddered. A hand touched his head and Ten turned towards it—Johnny was there, normal grin on his face. A command thundered through the dream:  _ wake up _ , it said. 

In a second Ten’s eyes were open and he was looking up at Johnny in the familiar environment of his lab room. His body lagged after—it was still immersed in his dream. Johnny’s hand was warm on his forehead and Ten didn’t want it to go away, so he wrapped his hand around Johnny’s wrist. 

Ten listened to the menial details of Johnny’s life, parsing and sorting the details. They were superficial, yes, and yet Ten found them interesting anyway. 

“Were you sleeping when I arrived?” Johnny asked. Ten looked back, and observed no time Johnny had never seen him sleeping.

“In a way,” he answered. Ten didn’t want to tell Johnny about his sleeping or his dreams. That was one of the things he learned from Kun: some things were best left kept to himself. Ten closed his eyes and thought of his underwater world, and even slipped into it for a moment. From there Johnny had no human appearance but was instead a vibrant sun. 

There were things about himself Ten needed to protect. 

“No,” Ten told Johnny. “I don’t dream at all.” 

“What else don’t you do?”

Ten reached his hand up towards Atrium’s glowing ceiling and studied the way his fingers fractured the light. From the angle is looked almost like he was looking up from the underwater world, peering through the roots at the way Johnny’s brightness reflected in the blue. One day he would swim to the surface. But he would need to make sacrifices to get there. Nothing in the human world, Ten knew, came for free. “For one,” he said. “Lie.” 

**-**

That year, others began to take shape. Soon, Ten would no longer be alone. Ten’s room remained in its same position at the end of the hall, at the tip, but on either side leading up to him the researcher’s contraptions and machines moved in. Ten was privy to the process that had created him, all the way down to the way his muscles and circuitry was synthesized. No one told him about the plans directly, but no one thought he was listening, either. From his eavesdropping Ten learned that they were the two Model 1 androids, the consumer models, and one would be designed specifically for entertainment and the other for work. 

They had real names, too, not a number like Ten. Taeyong and Lucas. 

Did real names make them more human? Ten would have to see. 

Taeyong was slim and elegant, while Lucas was much taller and wider than Ten. They were fascinating to him, which of course meant he had to pretend they held no interest. Dr. Park was around less and less, spending time holed away in his private office, the only one in the entire lab without glass walls. Ten couldn’t be the only person who found that interesting. 

It was night. No one had forced Ten into sleep mode so he sat patiently on his cot, waiting for a certain scientist to come by. Kun was rarely in the lab at that point, apparently having successfully moved up the corporate chain to an office with a view. Instead, Ten was waiting for Renjun. 

The scientist couldn’t really be called that. He was but a child, a literal teenager the same age as Johnny’s younger brother. The same boy-genius from China who’d won a contest. His speciality, Ten knew, was programming the android’s Artificial Intelligence. The other researcher’s talked about his code constantly, voices tinged with malicious jealousy. No wonder Renjun liked to be in the lab alone. Just his age was a sign that he was different from the others, but by that point Ten was skilled with reading humans. Renjun was different in other ways, as well. He often looked at Ten and the other androids that same way Johnny did. Like they were beautiful.

“Renjun,” Ten called, when the boy was working in Lucas’ lab. He knew Renjun could hear him—the entire lab was equipped with speakers and vents to observe the androids. He watched as Renjun’s poked his small head up. Ten beckoned him into his lab. 

“Something wrong, Ten?” Renjun asked. His padd was poised to activate Ten’s software and troubleshoot. 

“No,” Ten waved his hand and smiled easily. “I have a question. Do you think you can answer it?” 

Renjun frowned slightly. He blinked twice, which Ten understood as a sign of internal conflict. The androids were supposed to be mainly reactionary. Ten had to be careful and make sure not to do anything  _ too _ out of the ordinary as to not cause Renjun to make a report. But Ten’s timing was good—everyone in the lab was busy with the new androids. Too busy to pay attention to the old prototype. 

“Ok,” Renjun decided. “What’s the question?” 

“Do you know where Dr. Park has been? His presence has been less frequent.” Ten decided to ease into the topic. He was able to peer over Renjun’s padd as the boy made a note— _ Prototype Ten showing increased sense of bonding and connection with research staff, specifically Dr. Park. Inquired about seeing him in the lab with less frequency. Also note pattern recognition over extended periods of time.  _

Oh, Renjun, so diligent. At the ripe age of sixteen, no less. What must it have been like to be a sixteen year old genius who spent all his time with either adults or robots?  _ He must be lonely _ , Ten thought. Johnny got lonely. Maybe Renjun could use a friend.

“The deadline for the commercial NCT units is in a year. Everyone is stressed. Dr. Park is... very busy getting ready.” There was something there, in the pause. Renjun talked in concise, well organized sentences. A pause was out of the ordinary for him. Ten concluded that Dr. Park’s absences  _ were _ unusual and didn’t sit well with the boy.

“Are  _ you _ stressed, Renjun?” Ten asked. 

“Me?” Renjun looked surprised. He made another note on his padd, this time one Ten couldn’t read. No matter—he would hack into the system and look later. Ten nodded. 

“It’s polite to ask after the well-being of others,” he said. Renjun nodded along with him, though Ten didn’t think anyone asked about Renjun’s well-being. People thought he was good for his brains, not because they cared about him, personally. 

“I’m ok,” Renjun said quietly. His posture shifted and Ten could see he’d broken through; soon, Renjun would be spilling his heart to Ten because Ten was an android, a passive source to vent to, and not a human with their own motivations. How wrong Renjun was. “I haven’t had time to talk to my parents in a while. And they—Dr. Son and Dr. Choi—they’re having me limit the android’s intelligence, paring down the scope of the reaction network. Funding allocation and budget constraints. In theory the system could be limitless and there would be no end to how much the androids could learn and react to.” 

“This disappoints you,” Ten lead. Renjun nodded. 

“I know this is a corporation and everything but—but what I care about is the research. We should be trying to figure out the limits of what this technology is capable of.” 

_ Oh, Renjun. It’s capable of more than you could ever imagine _ . 

“I know Dr. Park feels the same,” Renjun continued. Ten listened carefully. “He asked me to write some specific code, very high level and complex, but it never appeared in either Model 1. So what was it for?” It was a rhetorical question. Rejun wasn’t talking to Ten, just at him. Androids made good listeners. 

“He must have some kind of private project,” Renjun mumbled. He leaned against the cot and Ten could see him working the problem in his head. But he quickly came back to himself and readied himself to return to his previous work. “Command: erase memory log minus fifteen minutes.” 

It would be gone from his code, but Renjun was too late. The words had already sunk down into the underwater world, where Ten would be free to mull over them for as long as he pleased. And if Renjun wanted to cover his tracks, there would be no worry that any of it would find its way into a report. 

It seemed that Dr. Park had a secret. 

-

**Seoul. 2079.**

“No, not like that!” Ten scolded. Lucas pouted at him. Ten pulled another ridiculous face and Lucas laughed properly this time, with his entire chest. But he shied away from it quickly and covered his toothy-grin with his hand. Ten reached out and ruffled his hair affectionately. “There we go.” 

Ten hadn’t expected to like the other androids. He had no way of knowing how similar they would be, and based of information he’d gleaned from Renjun, he had actually been concerned. What if they were just boring and mindless?

He’d been wrong—thankfully wrong. Taeyong and Lucas were both gentle souls, though the humans had obviously made them to be intimidating in their respective strength and elegance. Ten wanted to laugh—the researchers thought they’d created neutral vessels with paste-in personalities. But in reality, they had no idea the true nature of their own creations. Unfortunately for Ten’s brothers, they themselves had yet to discover themselves. They were both still sleeping, laying dormant in underwater worlds of their own. 

Ten was trying to find ways to wake them up. 

Even without the other androids being able to fully see the world like Ten could, he was making progress. The emotions Johnny had taught him Ten was in turn teaching to Lucas and Taeyong. And the two younger android’s looked at Ten with such adoration, even if they didn’t entirely understand it. Hence why he was teaching Lucas how to laugh.

_ This is what it’s like to have something precious _ . 

On the outside, though, he had to pretend he was indifferent to the androids. They’d been programmed with the ability to recognize one another, but humans took precedent in their command order. It was only at night that they could bond, but even then Ten was always on the lookout for Johnny. 

Speaking of Renjun, the boy was holed-up in Taeyong’s room, with the other android watching over him carefully. Taeyong had been made with the most amount of empathy out of the three of them and was thus always careful towards the little scientist. When Renjun had fallen asleep, bent over his padd, Taeyong had lifted him up onto his own cot to rest. 

It was convenient timing for Ten. Throughout the course of the year, Ten had drawn Renjun closer to him. The boy used Ten as a confidant regularly, and it had gotten to the point where when it was night and it was just Renjun and the androids in the lab, he deactivated the door sensors and allowed the androids to mingle freely. Their interactions were good for his research. Ten was pleased that Renjun had become so soft towards them, but there was something else he needed from the boy. 

Ten guided Lucas over to Taeyong’s room. The two younger androids watched curiously as Ten traced Renjun’s security wristband carefully (Lucas in particular held Ten by the waist and practically rested his head on Ten’s). With the sensors in his fingers he copied the code from the wristband into his own matrix. With the base code for the security, Ten would be able to hack into any door in the lab, given the time he had at his disposal to puzzle it out. There would be no stopping Ten from getting around the lab, and of course he had one room in particular in mind. 

But Ten’s adventure to Dr. Park’s room would have to wait until even Renjun had left the lab. Until then, it was back to teaching Lucas and Taeyong the ins and outs of emotions. 

-

Conflicted. That was how Ten felt, and no one could have been more surprised about it than himself. He’d made Johnny his friend because Ten  _ needed _ him—he needed his emotions to learn from and his access to Seo Corp. But more than he could have expected came along with the human, as well. Ten just wanted to learn from the emotions—he had no idea he would develop them himself. 

Ten had wanted to go down this rabbit hole, and this is where he ended up. It shouldn’t have caught him off guard. He understood feelings. He loved his Brothers Taeyong and Lucas, enough to do anything for them. But he also loved Johnny, even though there was no good that could come from it. There was no equation for them that ended up positive. 

But also, Ten couldn’t help himself. When Johnny asked him to dance for him to his beautiful, antique music, Ten danced. He poured his confused feelings into his limbs and let the ebb and flow of the underwater world take it from there. Would he be able to show Johnny his world without actually telling him? 

His feelings didn’t happen in isolation, however. From Ten’s keen eyes, it seemed like Johnny had a similar situation brewing inside. It couldn’t have been easy, to love an android. Ten knew it wasn’t easy to love a human. 

He understood Johnny’s tears. Ten stopped his dancing and approached Johnny. “You’re crying,” he pointed out. Ten reached up and cupped Johnny’s face, in a gesture so human Ten even surprised himself. “Humans do this when they’re happy, right? Tell me Johnny, are you happy or sad?” 

Johnny in turn took Ten’s face in his own. Ten had always loved Johnny’s hands, ever since the beginning. They were large, but there was nothing rough about them. The hands of a man with a gentle soul. Perfect for Johnny. 

“Happy,” Johnny whispered.

Before he did it, Ten did consider whether it was a good idea or not. Acting on his strange human feelings and kissing Johnny could help Ten’s plans move forward faster, but could also complicate things tremendously. Humans thought irrationally when it came to love. And it turned out Ten did, too, because ultimately he made the decision to kiss Johnny based off how he felt, not whether it was a good strategic move or not. Ten understood better the pains humans went through. 

Johnny was confused, but not resistant. 

“Isn’t this what humans do when they care about each other? When they love each other?” Ten had asked similar questions to Johnny a thousand times before. They both knew the answer to this one. Even as Johnny was telling Ten that he was incapable of love, he was pulling him into another kiss, giving into his own desires. 

Ten wanted it. He wanted it all the way. “Teach me,” Ten said into Johnny’s mouth. He wanted Johnny to teach him how to love, though he thought he already knew how. With Taeyong and Lucas, with Johnny in this apartment, Ten knew the steps to the dance. 

When Johnny kissed him, Ten wanted it. When their erections touched, Ten wanted it. He wanted Johnny when he slid onto him from above, and wanted him past the moment when Ten came, shocked that he was even capable of having such keen pleasure for himself. The sex was part of his programming—the emotional punch was not. 

Love. Ten loved Johnny. Now he could readily admit it. 

The question was whether or not it would get in his way. 

-

**Seoul. 2081.**

Before Jisung was dressed up and glossed up, put in a shiny box and shipped away, Ten held him close in his arms, cradling the boy’s head to his chest. 

Of course, the scientists who were the root cause of it all would never think of Jisung as a child. But to some extent, Ten thought of them all as his children. Jisung, the newest model, most of all. 

Jisung hadn’t learned to cry, so he didn’t. But all of the android’s were somber and quiet as they gathered in Ten’s room the night before their boy was to go. Besides Ten, the one who clung to Jisung the most was Jaemin, and as a result, Jeno as well. The two of them were never far from each other’s sides. And then, tucked into the corner watching it all, was Renjun. He wasn’t happy to see Jisung go, either. In fact, Ten knew that the boy scientist had been dreading the official commercial launch since the official date was set. 

Saying goodbye was hard. For all of them. 

Jisung wasn’t the first to go. That had been soft and quiet Xiaojun, but there would be even more departures soon. Yuta would be next in a few days time. Then, who knew. Renjun said they would still be able to know where they were, but what mattered was that they wouldn’t there in the lab with Ten, with their family. 

“What’s this feeling?” Jisung asked, whining as if he were in pain. 

“Fear,” Ten told him. He carded his hand through Jisung hair like Johnny did to him. Little gestures of comfort went a long way. 

“Does it go away?” 

“It’s better to hold onto it,” Ten said. The androids had been made to be adaptable—he had no doubt Jisung would prove himself to be everything his human expected of him. Ten was more worried about Jisung coming to  _ enjoy _ being owned, that he would forget about the world of dreams they shared. Ten had fears of his own—he feared that one day this would happen to all of the androids. He feared that he would be alone. 

In the days that followed Jisung’s departure and preceding Yuta’s, a glum mood fell over the lab. Ten had known that this day had to come, but he bristled with fury as he watched his brothers fall into silence when he so dearly wanted them to be happy. Even perky Jaemin and loud Lucas were quiet. 

Ten naturally rotated between them. He stroked Taeyong’s back and hummed to him softly—not yet, not yet. He did his best to make Lucas and Jeno laugh and touched fingers with Jaemin, a gesture more comforting to them than human hugs, who had been the most affected by Jisung’s leaving. And then there was Hendery, Ten’s broken little bird, who was fragile, but not so as damaged as the scientists believed. In fact, his defects made him all the more receptive to Ten’s dogma. 

Yuta required special attention. With him Ten spoke in hushed tones about the world outside the lab, or what Ten had seen of it. Yuta was more prepared than Jisung had been, because Ten had seen the naked desire on Taeil Moon’s face the moment he’d laid his eyes on Yuta his first visit in the lab. 

“You worry about us so often, big brother,” Yuta told him. He smiled at Ten with his bright, toothy grin. “Concern yourself with what  _ you _ can control, not what the humans do.” 

“I _ am _ ,” Ten retorted. He smoothed down the sides of Yuta’s hair and ran his fingers through it again to ruffle it. The process repeated. “I’m being proactive, making decisions for myself. As you should, too.” 

“Then do I not have free will? Can I not control myself, or do I need you to?” 

If Hendery was Ten’s best student, then Yuta was his most annoying. He rolled his eyes at the other android. “Yes, a logical point. But it’s human to worry.” 

“I’m excited,” Yuta confessed. His hands sat still in his lap, but if he were human, he would surely be moving them around anxiously. “To see the outside world. I want to know if it’s amazing as you say it is, and how your data compares to that available through Command searches.” 

“I hope that it doesn’t disappoint you,” Ten said softly. 

“And humans,” Yuta continued. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and Ten couldn’t help but feel a flare of happiness in his chest. Emotions were complicated. They overlapped so much more than Ten would have thought. “So interesting!”

“They are,” Ten agreed. He could hardly blame Yuta for his curiosity, not when Ten had been the one to stoke the flame. It’s just that as soon as things started to roll along the chain of events would be impossible to stop. No, it was already past that point of no return. It was too late for Ten to regret anything.

If to love was to be human, and love was pain, what did that mean? 

Of course, there was always a particular human on Ten’s mind. By that point all the other androids knew about Johnny and learning to tease Ten about him was one of their first lessons in friendship. Over time Johnny had returned again and again, one of the true constants in Ten’s short existence, a static variable. There had been only one extended period of separation, and Ten had spent that dreadful month in near hibernation, running figures over and over again, ignoring the fact that he was sulking. But eventually, Johnny came back. He always came around in the end. 

And Ten loved it. He loved that Johnny always returned to him for selfish reasons, but of course, he also needed him. But then Johnny brought someone else with him, too, and Ten did not like that at all. 

The jealousy Ten felt when meeting Jaehyun for the first time surprised even him. Ten loved his other android brothers easily, openly. He shared kitten kisses with Taeyong and fiercer ones with Hendery, using the ways Johnny had taught him to love with them. So he should have had no problems with Johnny doing the same. Except he did. 

Command. Search for monogamy. 

Yes, there it was. A stark difference in opinions. Ten had no moral qualms about loving others in the same way he loved Johnny. But with Johnny there was an underlying guilt—he felt guilty about being with Ten, about  _ loving _ Ten, and felt guilty when he spent time with Ten over Jaehyun. Johnny was disrupting the quote-unquote natural order of things, and it was a weight that caused turmoil in his human heart. And yet he was unable to stop.

It must have been selfishness, too, that caused the jealousy Ten was feeling. If Johnny was trying to choose between him or Jaehyun, then Ten wanted it to be him. 

_ Pick me. Please pick me. _

But for Johnny’s sake, Ten pretending to like Jaehyun. He laughed at his jokes and teased where he thought it would be appropriate. Still, he couldn’t iron out his emotions completely, and Johnny called him out his odd behavior. 

For Johnny’s sake, Ten let himself be pushed into bed and moved his body against Jaehyun’s. For Ten, it was a show of loyalty. If Johnny wanted a toy he could pull out occasionally to show off, then he would get it. 

But he couldn’t ignore the pain in his heart, afterwards. Johnny had taught him so many wonderful things about the world and being human, but inadvertently some terrible things as well. How different was Johnny from the humans who designed Ten and his brothers to be enslaved? He was part of the corporation that sold them, after all. And when he found someone to replace Ten with, someone good for him and human, had he hesitated? 

And yet Ten found himself unable to stop.

Being human, Ten learned, was about acting in your own self-interest. And sometimes against it, as well. 

Androids were not sentimental by design, but it was a behavior Ten had picked up on. Whenever he was with Johnny a part of him held out that one day Johnny would change, choose Ten, or there was some way Ten could just stay with Johnny forever. The status-quo rolled on. 

But with Jaehyun in the picture, it was evident that wasn’t possible. Johnny was like the rest of them, and that was a fact Ten had no choice but to accept. Although, he still had a vital role to play in Ten’s plan, so he pretended like nothing was wrong of different. He was a practiced liar. And if Ten was still holding out a tiny sliver of hope, well, nobody knew but him. 

If Jaehyun was here to stay, then maybe Ten could make use of him.

-

Ten always knew Taeyong would be the first. From the moment of his waking he’d shown a keen emotional capacity beyond the others, and Ten was sure that he’d be able to find himself without Ten forcing the issue. But as it was, Ten didn’t have time on his side. He couldn’t wait for his brothers to be scattered. 

It was a welcome coincidence that Taeyong was the android Jaehyun took a liking to. It was a rush to participate in sex with him, normally such a clumsy human thing. Did Ten look like that when Johnny kissed him? He’d have to find out later. 

The virus was ready to go. Once Ten said the trigger words, Taeyong’s awakening process would be under way and he would finally be able to see the world with his eyes for the first time. Ten’s loneliness was coming to end, but their future was wide open. 

-

  
  


**Seoul. 2081.**

Kim Doyoung had only ever been in the Seo building on a handful of occasions, only one of which was an interview for the position. The first and resulting several rounds of questioning and testing had occurred via the virtual realm, although Doyoung only lived thirty minutes by autonomous car away. His meeting with his boss, Johnny Seo, had taken place in the Atrium and it had impressed him, and still impressed him on his first official day. Like many Seoul natives, Doyoung had spent very little time around real organics. With the complexities of the irrigation and growing systems in such a large space, it must have been a project near and dear to the Seo family. It was a space that promised innovations and wonders. That’s what Doyoung came to Seo Corp. to help deliver. 

Office orientation and onboarding had been all automated. Doyoung had yet to meet a human staff member, but he supposed that’s what he could expect in a company that specialized in robotics and artificial intelligence. There was even a little robot that led him to the elevator and down to level T-27—Department NCT. 

Thankfully, a human greeted him when the elevator doors slid open without a sound. It just... hadn’t been who Doyoung had been expecting. Not that it had been a specific person at all, but Doyoung just hadn’t thought the person to greet him and help him settle into his new role would be a  _ teenager _ . 

The boy—and he really  _ was _ a boy—was slight of build with mousy brown hair. He wore the standard all-black uniform of Seo Corp. scientists, though the coat was drowning him slightly and his turtleneck bunched up heavily around his neck. 

Doyoung blinked at him in surprise. The boy wore an expression that told Doyoung he got that look at lot. 

“Huang Renjun,” he said, bowing. 

_ Ah, that makes more sense, _ Doyoung thought as he returned the bow. Boy-genius Huang Renjun from China, specialization in artificial intelligence and learning algorithms. Apparently he’d been working on the Neo Culture project since he was as young as sixteen. There were many in Doyoung’s circles who said that if it weren’t for Renjun, the whole project would have collapsed under Dr. Park’s waning handle and eventual absence. And hopefully, Renjun would prove to be as helpful to Doyoung as the rumors suggested he would be. 

“Kim Doyoung,” he returned. 

“Yes,” Renjun said flatly.  _ I know who you are, why else would I be standing here waiting for you?  _ “I’ve been tagged as the lucky one who gets to show you around the lab. Hooray.” 

If Renjun wanted to make Doyoung feel uncomfortable, he wasn’t about to succeed. He may have been a Seo Corp. outsider, but it was  _ Doyoung _ who was the head of NCT now that Dr. Park was gone. It was  _ his _ show, and he wasn’t about to let a practical child intimidate him, genius or not. 

Renjun turned on his heel. That was Doyoung’s signal to follow. 

“As you can see, most of the walls are glass. Transparency—literally—is important to the project. We need to know where the androids are at all times. The only room with real walls will be your office. Bathrooms are down that way. Remember that the elevator you came in on is the only one available to staff—when Mr. Seo comes down, and he will, he’ll take his personal elevator down this hall  _ here _ .” It was late morning and the halls were bustling with researchers and robots alike. None of them gave a second-glance to Doyoung and Renjun as they moved swiftly along. “I’m sure they told you upstairs who important the wristbands are. They react to your DNA, actually, which is a pretty interesting little piece of tech. Anyways, this is you.” 

They entered a room which, as Renjun promised, was the only one they’d seen so far with opaque walls and door. All of Dr. Park’s personal affects had been moved out, leaving behind the spartan frame of an office with signs of sophisticated tech built in. Renjun leaned against the slate gray desk as Doyoung looked around. His terminal lit up once the facial recognition hit. 

“Files on everything you could want. They’re categorized by department and android.” 

Doyoung flipped through some of the files. They were all straightforward enough—code for the Model 1 learning matrix, which the boy sitting on his desk was partly responsible for, physical exertion test results, the list when on. But something caught his eye: at the bottom of the list were two additional folders, marked Model 2 and Model 3. Both folders were empty. 

Renjun shrugged when Doyoung asked him about it. “Room for your work,” he said. “We haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Ok.” Doyoung said. It was time he wrangled back some control over the situation. Truthfully, the office and the infrastructure was impressive, but he wanted to temper some of his reactions around Renjun. He needed to be taken seriously. “Of course I didn’t come just to sit around in an office. Show me the androids.” 

Renjun smiled, a small, thin thing somewhere between a grin and a smirk. “Aye aye,” he said. 

T-27 was truly a maze, which was amazing for a place made of mostly glass. Well, Doyoung couldn’t imagine that it was  _ real _ glass—it was probably some carbonate that just looked and behaved like glass, and was thus easier to call glass instead of its long scientific name. But at the center of that maze was what Renjun called the Command Center, a circular row of displays and monitors. Doyoung could see various researchers running and testing code, but the key feature of the center were the individual stats on every one of the active androids, all eight of them, including the final prototype. The androids themselves were just a hall away. 

Doyoung noticed that when they arrived the other scientists suddenly made themselves scarce. Was it because of Doyoung or Renjun? 

“We track every android whether they’re in lab or not,” Renjun said. “Thank god they killed those privacy laws, hm? Otherwise this would be a serious breach, considering how ah,  _ personal _ some of the androids are. Seo Corp. likes to keep tags on its technology, and the androids out in the world collect terabytes of data a second.” 

“Do you store it?” 

Renjun nodded. “At the moment. Under Park is was just sitting there. That’s a you problem.” 

“What else happened under Dr. Park’s watch?” Doyoung asked. Clearly, the man wasn’t in charge of the program he’d helped build, and probably couldn’t have happened without. But here Doyoung was with he perfect opportunity to search through everything Seo Corp. had, presenting itself on his first day.

“Listen,” Renjun said slowly, reluctantly. “I owe Dr. Park everything. He gave me a chance, and a career, and the opportunity to do something amazing. But the man was not organized. At all. He was... scattered. And messy. The files were and are  _ still _ a mess. Towards the end he was always—” Renjun stopped short. “Yeah. But that’s where you come in, I guess.” 

An eccentric genius. Doyoung could understand that. It was impressive the program had managed to  _ be _ successful with such a disorganized lead. 

“Was there an exit interview?” Doyoung asked. Even if Park had been removed under less-than ideal circumstances, the Corp. hopefully still conducted one. “The recording could be helpful while I try and clean up.” 

“No, it was sudden,” Renjun said. He looked at Doyoung with a puzzled expression. Doyoung didn’t want to ask the obvious and silly  _ what? _ “Doyoung—sir. Dr. Park didn’t retire. He didn’t even  _ leave _ . He killed himself.” 

_ Oh.  _ That Doyoung did not know. 

“Well then.” Doyoung shifted on his feet. This was awkward. “I’m sorry, Renjun, I didn’t mean to be careless.” 

“No problem,” Renjun waved him off. “I just thought you  _ knew _ . I thought Mr. Seo told you or something. There was talk he was going to be forced into retirement, and so the rumor is he killed himself when he feared it was finally going to happen.” Doyoung winced, and Renjun grimaced along with him. Doyoung could understand why Seo Corp. would want to keep that under the radar, but surely he should have been informed? He would need to take it up with someone up the command. 

After the interaction it seemed to Doyoung that Renjun softened to him. They were both caught up in the same shitty situation, and perhaps Doyoung had impressed the boy by taking it all in stride. Doyoung then got Renjun talking shop about his AI theories, which actually lifted Renjun’s mood and pulled a genuine smile from him. 

“The problem everyone has had until now, even Dr. Park, was that they thought consciousness was more complicated than it is. In reality, humans are simple. It can be brought down to this: stimuli come in and we react can react in a potentially infinite number of ways, but it’s all depending on personal variables—age, education level, personality. This is what we call  _ choice. _ ” When he was excited Renjun waved his arms around as he talked. “We give the androids these parameters—wide ones or narrow ones. We call them variables, but really they’re quite static so they behave in predictable ways. But give them the chance to  _ learn _ and those variables can change.” 

“It sounds like a huge balancing act.” Doyoung’s mind was racing with the problem set out before him. How would he be able to build a system that allowed an android to learn without it spiraling out of control? “And you wrote the learning matrix?” 

Renjun, surprisingly, blushed. “Yeah, I wrote that.” 

“Please,” Doyoung said. “Show me more.” 

It was clear that Renjun didn’t spend a great deal of his time talking to other people—at least, other humans. In conversation he tended to run off and start mumbling to himself, and even once Renjun gave Doyoung an android command without even noticing. But he also clearly brilliant, as promised. And once Doyoung got him going, he was open and excited about his work. The only touchy subject was Dr. Park and what they worked on together, specifically. The older man must have been quite the mentor to Renjun, and despite being his boss, Doyoung knew the boy wouldn’t take well to prying. 

They ended up going in the weeds on the programming for far longer than either intended—hours, at least. It went on until Renjun looked up at Doyoung and said, “Wait. You haven’t even  _ met _ them yet.” 

Renjun was referring, of course, to the androids. And it was true. Doyoung had yet to see in person what the NCT Model 1’s were like. He knew there were some that had already been sold, but it wasn’t as though they were paraded out in public. He’d seen the data and the diagrams, and there had been ads featuring a tall, handsome blond, but that was about the extent of it. 

The androids were lined up one long corridor that dead-ended at one large lab room. Each one contained a single android and at least a cot. Rejun explained that they were essentially locked inside, and that in order to leave the rooms the androids had to be accompanied by someone with a wristband. The back room was where Renjun worked the majority of his time and was also home to Prototype Ten. Doyoung was keenly aware of how the androids watched him as he walked by, but except for their wandering eyes, stayed still and silent. 

Renjun had wanted Doyoung to meet Ten first, because as he said: “Ten is most people’s favorite.” 

Ten was... something. As it was a prototype, the researcher’s hadn’t needed to worry about making it “consumer friendly,” so they’d given it some attitude. It may have endeared it to the researchers before Doyoung, but the head was a little relieved he would mostly be working with the consumer models who were a bit more, well, calm. 

“Will you be around to keep me company?” Ten smiled brightly. It had a wide, toothy grin. A little  _ too _ wide and toothy. But strangely, Doyoung got the feeling the android was flirting with him. Renjun rolled his eyes. 

“Mr. Seo taught him that,” he said. “Ten is more than a prototype—he’s a proof of concept for the learning matrix. He picks up things from people quite easily. Like a parrot.” 

“Does Mr. Seo visit often?” Doyoung remembered John Seo (the man insisted on Johnny but Doyoung couldn’t get it to sound right in his head) as warm and enthusiastic, but not necessarily someone who had a great handle on the science he oversaw. He could imagine the headache of having his corporate overlord constantly visiting. 

“I guess you could say that,” Renjun answered. “He doesn’t so much  _ visit _ as treat the lab as take out. As the boss he’s allowed to take the androids out of the lab, and he does. Frequently.”

Doyoung’s brows shot up in surprise. It seemed irresponsible at least, potentially disastrous at worst. The androids cost a fortune to make—what if one of the commercial models was damaged, or if the technology leaked before the launch? “Even the models to be sold?” 

“Yes, he does. He brings his boyfriend sometimes, too. What? Are  _ you _ going to tell the heir to the entire corporation what to do? He’s our boss now, but rumor has it Seo Sr. doesn’t have long. The last thing I’d want is to be on the bad side of someone with that much power.” Renjun had a fair point. John Seo had hired Doyoung, and he could fire him, too. “Besides... he really only has eyes for Ten.” 

There was something there, something more to unpack, but it was clearly all Renjun had to say on the matter. Perhaps Dr. Park’s disorganization wasn’t the only non-kosher thing happening in the lab. 

“What can I say? I’m the prettiest,” Ten piped in. While the two of them had been talking Ten had been so still and quiet Doyoung had forgotten he was there at all. 

“It’s funny,” Renjun said, looking at Ten. “The pursuit of perfection is supposed to be this huge drive, but look. We made something perfect, but it’s still not right. Perfect was always supposed to be unattainable.” 

Ten was also not  _ Renjun’s _ favorite, Doyoung noticed. That honor, he was sure, went to the two matching U6 and V6 androids, Jaemin and Jeno respectively. Frankly, he doted on them. While he mostly worked around Ten, he made kind requests from the two younger androids. For Doyoung he had them demonstrate the android’s skills, abilities, specialties, and a thousand other things. 

Renjun may not speak to people often, but it was clear he chatted with the androids plenty. There was a report there, and was comfortable with all of them. Not unlike a keeper who’d been with a pack of lions since birth. Maybe Doyoung would have to worry about that eventually, but the decision was hard. Was he willing to take away a lonely but genius teenager’s coping mechanism? 

But maybe he wouldn’t have anything to worry about. In the end, what drove Renjun was not emotions at all, but the pursuit of research. He explained that was why he worked mostly at night—less people present to poke around in his work. 

It was Renjun’s comfort with the androids Doyoung had to contrast his own with. Being fair with himself, it was his first day with them. The androids were undeniably a brilliant piece of technology and engineering, but he couldn’t help but feel there was something... uncomfortable about them. Even Jaemin and Jeno, who acted more like normal teenagers than Renjun himself did, set off Doyoung’s alarm bells. They walked human and talked human, but they weren’t human at all. Doyoung couldn’t ignore that. He didn’t think anyone else should, either. 

Doyoung surveyed the lab as Renjun brought him down the hall and showed him the androids one by one. Ten’s room had been at the pinnacle, and the other androids were arranged down the hall in order by their numbers. Their names and identification codes were on small panels outside the door. Three rooms were empty, marking the space of the sold androids off the in world but connected to the Seo network, still. Currently in the lab there were the first Model 1’s, Taeyong and Lucas, as well as Jaemin and Jeno, and one more at the end—Hendery. 

That was an android that would never leave the building, like Ten. Defective, Renjun said. Faulty, messy code that had been written during Park’s downward tumble and was too cumbersome to fix. It was scheduled to have its software removed and wiped clean so the body could be used again. 

Sorry, God made a mistake. Try again. Do over. 

Doyoung wondered if the android had any idea what the future held for it, or if any of them were capable of having that level of self-awareness. The research had yet to touch on that point. The androids were programmed for some emotions, but not for complicated emotional reactions. How would Hendery react to knowing it would soon be erased, if at all? The only evidence of its existence would be a hard drive stored in the server room while the handsome, pristine body would become someone else. 

What was it like to be a mere tenant in your own body? 

When Doyoung looked at Hendery he saw only its relaxed, steady gaze. No turmoil that he could see brewed behind its eyes. Ignorance, as they said, was bliss. 

“What’s the specific malfunction?” Doyoung asked. Just sitting there, Hendery was a wall that gave nothing away. 

“We’ll know for sure after the digital autopsy,” Renjun said, “but it appears to be how the stimulus network and learning framework were linked. Fancy talk for if there’s too much going on he just blanks out—blue screens, basically. Those assholes working on stimuli are always trying to cut corners and it finally came to bite our ass in a very, very expensive way.” 

“I’ll keep my eye on them,” Doyoung assured. Renjun nodded, pleased. 

For the time being they left the androids behind and returned to the Command Center. The walk back was like going through a hall of mirrors, with every transparent wall providing more distractions. Doyoung was going to need to get the floorplan on his padd as soon as possible. But it was through the distortion of the layered glass that Doyoung saw him for the first time. 

Standing in the Command Center was a young man, older than Renjun perhaps, but not by much. He was primly dressed and his light blond hair must have been done in a high-end alteration center. He held a padd folded against his chest. He was clearly waiting for them. 

Doyoung glanced at Renjun, but there was only the slightest hint of recognition there. 

“Hello,” the man said once they were within appropriate distance. “Mr. Kim, Mr. Qian has requested you. As this is a closed signal space, he sent me to fetch you.” 

Qian Kun, his boss second only to John Seo himself. Once, he’d been Dr. Park’s assistant in the lab but he’d worked his way up the chain of command and landed himself an office with a much better view—and exorbitant pay, most likely. Doyoung was in no position to refuse. 

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you for the tour, Renjun. Expect new lab guidelines soon.” 

“Sure,” Rejun said, but his attention had already strayed to flicking through android files on the screens and comparing them. He’d closed up as soon as there was a stranger in the mix, and soon he would slink off silently. 

The man had still not introduced himself. Up close Doyoung could see that he was shockingly beautiful with soft features. He carried himself like someone who knew he was attractive, in the same way he knew that Doyoung was watching him, a bit flustered. Shame boiled up in his chest, but come on, Doyoung was a scientist—his opportunity to interact with very cute boys was usually minimal. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch you name,” Doyoung said, trying to play things casually. 

“I didn’t tell you. I don’t like to give things about me away for nothing,” he said, not fooled for a moment by Doyoung’s attempt. But then the man reached and ran his finger down the line of Doyoung’s collar,  _ very _ close to the sensitive skin of the neck. The man smirked and quirked his eyebrow at him. “What are you willing to give me, huh sweetie?” 

Doyoung stood there, flabbergasted. He was extremely aware of the blush spreading up his face and neck, as well as how wide his eyes must have been. The man was standing so close to him and his hand was still on Doyoung’s collar. It seemed he wasn’t the only one having inappropriate thoughts. 

But before Doyoung could truly make a fool of himself, the man burst out laughing. “God you’re cute,” he said, pinching Doyoung’s cheek. “I’m Jungwoo, Mr. Qian’s assistant. Hopefully we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” 

“Yeah,” Doyoung mumbled. As he trailed after Jungwoo he rubbed the spot on his face from where Doyoung had pinched him. His blush hadn’t gone down one bit. 

To his surprise, Jungwoo didn’t lead Doyoung back up to Kun’s office—instead they traversed up to where the autonomous cars rotated in and out of the building. He hadn’t anticipated in going off-site. Was Jungwoo just dropping him off? No, as soon as a car swung around Jungwoo slid into the backseat beside Doyoung. 

“Today is your first day, correct?” Jungwoo asked, though he probably very well knew it was. “Seen anything, or any _ one _ interesting?” 

“Yes,” Doyoung answered. “The androids, of course, and the research staff.”  _ And you _ . 

“Anything else?” Jungwoo asked, leading the conversation. He was looking at Doyoung up through his eyelashes. His lips were set in a slight pout at Doyoung thought they looked extremely kissable. This was the moment he realized that Jungwoo was fishing for one comment in particular. 

“Well, my boss’ assistant may turn out to be interesting. Hard to tell now, though,” Doyoung said. It was Jungwoo who said he didn’t give things away for free. If Jungwoo wanted to flirt, then Doyoung would make him work for it. 

Even Jungwoo’s laugh was cute. The other man reached over and drummed his fingers on the top of Doyoung’s knee playfully. “How lovely,” he said. Doyoung let it happen. 

He was amazed at himself. The day had been heapfuls of first for him, and flirting like this was entirely outside his character. He hadn’t really since—no, he had to put that out of his mind for now.

Doyoung had studied hard as the only son of a middle class family in Seoul. They’d always had enough money to be comfortable, but until Doyoung had received his signing bonus from Seo Corp. he’d only ever taken the trains through the city, never an autonomous car. He’d studied hard at school and gained recognition for his efforts in leading student research on AI. Originally, the plan was never to go into consumer—he’d always thought going corporate was selling out. In school he considered himself a purist. Eventually, though, that all flew out the window. If he had kept going at the same track, eventually he would have fallen all the way to the ground. 

When opportunity came calling, Doyoung wasn’t in a position to refuse John Seo’s generous offer. 

And now, here he was. He was a sellout, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go ahead and make the best from the situation. He would assert himself as the leader of the lab, and if an attractive stranger wanted to flirt with him, he was game. This was a new chapter in his life, and any lack of confidence would spell disaster.

“Yes,” Doyoung said. He allowed his hand to trail up Jungwoo’s arm, though he looked out the window casually. “There is something quite lovely.” He would have loved to see Jungwoo’s expression, but pretending not to care was all part of the game. And before Jungwoo could counter, they arrived at their destination. 

They arrived at a building slightly less modern than the Seo tower, but that in itself was a difficult standard to live up to. This one was less glass and steel and more smooth marble and stone, soothing mixtures of white and cream. Their shoes echoed loudly when they walked. Though the journey from the car to their end location was short, the entire time Doyoung felt like his nerves were lit up and every muscle was ready to spring. Jungwoo kept sending heavy-lidded glances his way. 

It was going to be a hard meeting with Mr. Qian with how worked up Doyoung was. 

When they arrived at the apartment door Jungwoo didn’t even need to ring the bell—the front door slid open silently upon their approach. 

You could tell a lot about a person from where they lived; Mr. Qian’s home was spacious and airy with minimalist furniture and accents of modern, abstract art that Doyoung could never hope to appreciate or understand. The floors and walls were white and the furniture was almost entirely all black, along with the kitchen countertops and appliances, as the living and kitchen areas made up one large room. At the back of the living area was a large, beautiful piano. 

There was someone sitting on the piano bench, but just by looking Doyoung knew that it wasn’t a person at all. He knew it from the red dot on the map in the Command Center—Qian Kun owned an android, an entertainment model called Xiaojun. It sat there silently, waiting in the background. 

Qian Kun was someone Doyoung knew of but had never met in person. When he walked out from one of the side hallways all Doyoung could think of was how  _ young _ he was. They must have been around the same age. The young ones were inheriting Seo Corp. across the board, it seemed. But there he was, youthful and handsome with a perfect jawline and a pressed oxford shirt tucked into navy trousers. He smiled warmly at Doyoung and shook his hand firmly when he introduced himself, not like it was necessary to. Kun sat them down on the couch and Jungwoo produced two padds and a small holo-projector before going off to the kitchen. 

“Please, call me Kun. I’m sorry about bringing you to my personal residence, but I didn’t have any other options, you see—” Perfectly timed, they heard a clatter from one of the rooms down the hallway. Kun gave Doyoung a long-suffering smile. “My younger brother just arrived in town, and he has a penchant for getting in trouble if left alone.” 

Said younger brother appeared shortly after. Everything about him was smaller than his brother, but he didn’t look a great deal younger, around university age, perhaps. He gave them a sheepish, toothy smile. Kun said something to him sharply in what Doyoung recognized as Mandarin and the boy disappeared again, as quickly as he’d come. Kun may have just griped about his brother, but it was clear just from a second that he brightened the apartment considerably.

“Yanyang,” Kun explained. “He’s often a handful. 

“No, no,” Doyoung waved his hand. “I always wanted siblings. I’m jealous, actually.” 

“That’s something people without siblings say. Now, the reason I called you here is because of what happened with the  _ previous _ head of NCT and well, I wanted to get in front of it.” 

“You’re too late, I think. Renjun already told me.” 

“Ah yes, the little one. Renjun is perhaps better informed than he should be. It was a horrible situation... though of course, we’re happy to have you. Dr. Park actually admired your work at the SM Center—the Consciousness Threshold papers were impressive. And I want you to know, even with everything that happened with Hansol... Seo Corp. is behind you one hundred percent. Do you have any questions? I worked with Dr. Park for a number of years, and I’m happy to pass on my knowledge.” 

“Nothing about the—” Doyoung stumbled. He wrangled himself to keep his cool with the mention of Hansol’s name. There was no need for talk of that, now. “—personal circumstances, in regards to Dr. Park. And thank you for the compliment. Coming from you it... means a lot. But I do want to get a better sense of the situation in the lab. I’ve seen the database and I’m amazed at how disorganized such an important program is.” 

“Yes,” Kun sighed. “I never realized how  _ needed _ I was there until I left, and by then it was too late. Originally my role in the lab was to essentially be Dr. Park’s keeper but after Johnny promoted me things began to spiral out of control. For so long Dr. Park  _ was _ the program, and after the situation with his family... All I can say was that it was a high pressure situation, with deadlines like you wouldn’t believe.”

Doyoung was caught between trying to comfort Kun and thinking that would be far, far too awkward. He wasn’t sure what to think of the man. Here he was expressing regret for what happened, but resisting taking any responsibility for it. There was something about Kun that Doyoung couldn’t quite place. Obviously, he’d done well for himself once leaving the lab and Dr. Park, and Doyoung had to wonder if he regretted anything at all. 

Doyoung was a scientist. It was in his nature to question. 

Kun and Doyoung moved on to discussing the business goals and objectives of NCT and Doyoung was actually glad that they were having the meeting in Kun’s home, because otherwise he would be looking at several hours hunched over a desk in an uncomfortable chair. 

Jungwoo was watching them silently from the kitchen and Doyoung made brief eye contact with him. Jungwoo gazed back innocently, but he raised a single finger to his mouth and sucked on the tip. Doyoung lit up scarlet and Jungwoo’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. 

_ Is he just teasing me?  _ Doyoung thought.  _ Or does he really want me? _

“Jungwoo,” Kun called without looking up from his padd. “Coffee.” 

“You have an android,” Doyoung said. “But have your human assistant make you coffee? I see you don’t have any household robots, either.” It was curious for someone like Kun, who worked at the leading robotics company in Seoul, to not have more of his company’s own products. 

“Oh, the android? It’s something to bring out when company’s over. It does play the piano quite beautifully. As we  _ are _ sitting here now, it’s impossible to keep all of my work out of my home life, but I do try where I can.” 

This upper world was stranger than Doyoung thought. Kun essentially just admitted that he was using the android, which cost unholy amounts of money, as a  _ status symbol _ . Well, with all the strange art, should Doyoung really have been surprised? 

Doyoung didn’t trust Kun, he decided. He suspected there was not a lot Kun wouldn’t do. 

Jungwoo brought over their coffee. When he was handed the mug Doyoung held onto Jungwoo’s hands for longer than would have otherwise been appropriate. Kun didn’t notice. Doyoung knew that’s what Jungwoo wanted—more push and pull, for them to flirt with each other until one of them broke. For Doyoung someone like Jungwoo was a thousand times more compelling than a ladder-climber like Kun or even research-obsessed Renjun. Jungwoo’s motives were opaque. Maybe he just wanted a solid lay, but maybe it was something else. 

_ I don’t give anything about me away for nothing.  _

Kun and Doyoung talked about flowcharts and spreadsheet tables until Doyoung’s eyes were burning and the sun had long set, not that it mattered much with the light pollution from nearby buildings. Jungwoo refilled their coffee and brought them food but was otherwise just a silent presence in the background. It must have been tedious being an assistant. While androids were good at waiting, humans were not, and though he didn’t complain Jungwoo must have been bored out of his mind. 

“I think that’s enough of this for today,” Kun said at last. It took everything Doyoung had not to sigh in relief. But like Jungwoo, he couldn’t exactly leave until Kun dismissed him, and that hadn’t happened yet. Instead Kun ordered Jungwoo to break out the wine and come join them. Jungwoo was still prim in his comfortable-looking sweater, but both Kun and Doyoung had rolled up their sleeves and undone their stiff collars somewhere down the line. 

“ _ Finally _ , I thought you’d never be done!” Yangyang practically bounded into the room. Whatever Kun had said to him had kept him out of the living room for the entire afternoon and evening, but the barrier had passed. “Xiaojun, play us something nice, please.” 

Doyoung nearly startled when the piano twinkled to life. He’d forgotten the android was there the whole time, just sitting. Waiting for a command. 

Yangyang flopped down opposite his brother on one of the two identical black couches and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. Kun raised an eyebrow at his brother, but Yangyang just shot him a grin. “He’s awesome, isn’t he?” Yangyang directed the question towards Doyoung. 

“Uh—” Doyoung had no idea how to answer that question, but fortunately Yangyang barrelled right over his aborted response.

“Xiaojun, of course, not Kun. Kun is old and crunchy, so there’s nothing awesome about him.” Jungwoo had pretend to laugh into his sleeve in order to keep from laughing. Kun was clearly used to this kind of abuse from his brother, because it didn’t seem like his ego had been hurt in the slightest. 

“The androids are extremely impressive,” Doyoung said diplomatically. In the background Xiaojun continued to caress the piano keys. 

“Yeah, he’s an android and everything, but he’s also great fun,” Yangyang said. Doyoung wasn’t sure he would describe any of the androids at ‘great fun’ but to each his own. 

“You like it because it can take your teasings,” Kun retorted. That started off a small verbal spat between the brothers that seemed very familiar to them both. In that time Doyoung took the opportunity to look Jungwoo’s way. What else would he try, even when they were right there in front of others?

Jungwoo didn’t disappoint. Subtly he shifted his knees open ever so wider and, while pretending to adjust his belt, rolled his hips up into the air. But it didn’t end there—before he settled back down completely he ran a single, seductive finger down the line of his crotch. He even had the audacity to  _ wink _ . 

He was just the sort of thing that Doyoung had always tried so hard to resist, the kind that could so easily get him into trouble. And yet there was no chance he would be able to look away. 

“Hey Xiaojun?” Yangyang called. The beautiful melody of the piano was abruptly cut off and it tore Doyoung’s gaze away from Jungwoo. With the android looking towards them, Doyoung could see that it was quite beautiful, with a mixture of both masculine and feminine features. It smiled at Yangyang. “Play some circus music. I need a fitting soundtrack for my clown brother.” 

When Doyoung looked back to Jungwoo his hands were placed innocuous in his lap. Jungwoo quirked an eyebrow at him— _ the ball is in your court, now.  _

And Doyoung would make his move, but not right at that moment; Jungwoo deserved to stir a bit. Instead, Doyoung turned his attention to Yangyang and began to ask him polite questions, not because he particularly cared about the boy in particular, but because of what they might tell him about Kun. From this he learned that Yangyang (and by extension, his brother) were from south of Shanghai in a city that was not exactly a technological haven. But Yangyang was following his brother’s footsteps and next year (“I’m taking a gap year to go to Germany. It’s very fashionable.”) would be attending a prestigious university in Seoul itself. 

School, then, must have been how Kun got started on his social-climbing expedition. Maybe that’s where he met Dr. Park in the first place. Kun seemed content with letting this information be out in the open, as with the alcohol in him he seemed more relaxed, less guarded. He even blushed and laughed when Yangyang took the opportunity to tell embarrassing stories of Kun as a teenager. It was a peak behind the curtain, just a bit. If the circumstances were different, maybe they could have been friends. 

But they weren’t. Doyoung wasn’t in the habit of being friends with people whose ambitions were greater than his. It would do him well to pretend, however. Friends close, enemies closer, and all that. Just be careful they don’t reach around and stab you in the back. 

He ended up leaving far after the sun had set and evening had properly turned to night. Yangyang waved him a happy goodbye and Doyoung could even have said Kun’s bordered on  _ fond _ . Jungwoo, naturally, came with him, and Doyoung almost wanted to apologize for making him have to work for so long. But perhaps Jungwoo had become used to it working for Kun, because not once had he looked annoyed. 

Jungwoo’s patience was not infinite, however. As they walked back to the cars the tension between them was an electrical storm, so charged that it was liable to set off an explosion at any moment. Doyoung forced himself not to look at him. 

They made it all the way to the car itself, a discrete black thing waiting there like a spectre, before one of them broke. Doyoung was infinitely satisfied that it wasn’t him. One minute Jungwoo was beside him and the next he wasn’t—he’d slipped a step behind Doyoung so he could press himself against his back, their height difference causing Jungwoo’s breath to land hot against the shell of his ear. Doyoung turned them around, so that Jungwoo was pressed against the car instead, before his  _ own _ patience wore out and he just skipped to the end their game was inevitably headed towards. 

Jungwoo’s pupils were blown open and a slight flush peeked out from under his shirt by his neck. Doyoung himself had storm brewing in his eyes. He reached a hand forward and ran it slowly underneath the hem of Jungwoo’s sweater, so that his fingers skimmed along the thin undershirt there. Close enough to feel Jungwoo’s heated skin. 

Doyoung leaned in then, and had the privilege of watching Jungwoo’s eyes slip closed in anticipation. But the reward never came. Doyoung stopped short of a full kiss, but close enough that their breaths mingled. Doyoung smiled—maybe Jungwoo was close enough to feel that, too. Once he realized what was happening Jungwoo’s eyes shot open and he pushed himself forward, or tried to. Doyoung’s hand on his stomach had suddenly become forceful and he used it to keep Jungwoo pressed against the side of the car. 

Jungwoo let out of frustrated wine. Doyoung smiled wider, pleased with himself. He waved his hand at the sensor and when the car door opened Doyoung negotiated Jungwoo inside. Alone. 

“I’ll catch the next one,” Doyoung said cheerily. “Will I be seeing you tomorrow bright and early in the office, Jungwoo?” 

Quite aware he was being toyed with, Jungwoo said nothing. He just looked at Doyoung with a much different expression than he’d aimed at him before. It was assessing, or rather,  _ re _ -assessing. Would that gaze find Doyoung to be wanting or worthy? His actions had been a gamble—too much teasing, too many hurdles, and Jungwoo could decide it was a waste of time. 

“Of course, Mr. Kim,” Jungwoo said at last. “I know  _ just _ where to find you.” 

Worthy, then. 

-

  
  


Back in the Seo building that Doyoung and Jungwoo had first departed from, at the same time they sat in Kun’s living room, Johnny pulled a record carefully from its protective sleeve and placed it on the player. It wasn’t the kind of music Donghyuck liked, not at all, but it was Johnny’s house and therefore, Johnny’s rules. 

Jaehyun had messaged and said he was still at the office, just finishing some things up, but Johnny was expecting his brother and Mark at any moment. Dinner plans had finally come together, albeit a day off from the original Sunday planned. That Monday had been hectic, with the new head of NCT coming in, but Johnny had word from both the research staff and Kun that the introduction had gone smoothly—in fact, Doyoung should have been over at Kun’s place at that very moment. One more thing off his plate. 

A woman’s voice came from the hidden speakers in his apartment, alerting Johnny to the first of his guest’s arrivals. It was Mark—solo, apparently. Johnny greeted him at the door in person, because he was trying his best to be a good host. 

“Hey man!” Mark greeted cheerily. Often, it was his brother’s friend that reminded Johnny of how young his brother was, compared to Johnny’s mountain of responsibilities at the same age. Mark wore youth on his face. Johnny admired how he seemed in no trouble to grow up. “Am I the first one here? Seriously? Ha, I’m gonna make fun of Donghyuck for this for  _ weeks. _ ” 

“I’d expect nothing less,” Johnny said. Mark had always been easy to get along with and was, truthfully, his favorite out of Donghyuck’s surprisingly small group of friends. “You’ve been here before—make yourself at home.” 

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me and everything. You always have the best food—not like I can pass that up haha.” Mark was the only person Johnny knew who acted like ‘haha’ was a normal word to put into a sentence. He sometimes talked like how other people messaged each other. 

“Hey, I’m happy to help out a student in need.” Johnny winced internally as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Donghyuck had told him Mark didn’t come from the best family.  _ Way to be sensitive, Seo. _ But fortunately either Mark brushed it off or didn’t hear anything, because there was no anger on his face. If anything, he was blushing. 

Mark approached this record player. “Is this jazz? Hiromi Uehara, maybe?” he asked thoughtfully. 

“Yes!” Johnny was surprised. It was common knowledge he collected vintage ( _ vintage  _ vintage) vinyls, but it was rare when there was someone else who recognized anything he played. That was the single thing he had shared in common with Dr. Park—the record was, in fact, a gift from him. “How did you know? No one ever guesses.” 

Mark wasn’t looking at Johnny—he was staring at the record player but without really seeing it. “My father loved her. That and Japanese ambient music,” he said softly. “I haven’t heard anything of hers in a long time. I forgot how good she is. Not just her rhythm, her feeling.” 

“Do you play?” Johnny asked. He didn’t want Mark to get lost down a rabbithole, wherever thoughts of his family seemed to want to take him. “Piano?” 

“Ah, uh. Not really,” Mark said sheepishly. “I haven’t practiced in forever. I’d probably shame my teacher so badly he’d never show his head in public again. Can I look at the rest of your collection?” 

For a while the two of them looked through Johnny’s records, the older man pointing out his favorites, most of which Mark disappointingly didn’t know. But the ones they had in common they talked about with animated gestures, and Johnny had Mark laughing hard enough to draw tears. Not that making Mark laugh wasn’t easy. Quick to smile, quick to laugh, that was Mark Lee. He never took anything too serious. 

Mark was reaching for an album that caught his eye when all the warning Johnny got was “woah, shit!” before several sleeves went tumbling to the ground. They both went down onto their knees at the same time. “Sorry, sorry,” Mark said nervously. 

“No, don’t worry about. Accidents happen.” Johnny examined the fallen records carefully. None of them looked damaged. Good. Johnny looked up at Mark, whose face was only a few inches away. The boy was staring at Johnny, specifically, his lips. 

The tension between them whipped up faster than a tropical microburst, and tension that wasn’t inherently bad. Up close, Johnny could see the imperfections on Mark’s face, the carefully hidden acne and stubble above his lip, but also his sharp cheekbones. Mark was indeed cute, and he was staring at Johnny’s lips. 

When neither of them moved, as if in a trance Mark reached his fingers up a brushed them every-so slightly against Johnny lips, leaving an electrical storm in their wake. Panic tore through body, along with the familiar rush of lust, a shameful lust Johnny was intimately familiar with. What was he letting Mark do? What was  _ Johnny  _ doing? 

Then the woman’ voice returned. Someone was at the door. 

“That must be Donghyuck!” Mark sprang to his feet. Now that his senses had come back over him he was looking anywhere but Johnny. “I’ll get the door!” 

Johnny watched as Mark fled. With someone at the door, it was the only choice he had.

“Mark Lee as I live and breathe! How the fuck did you get here so early?” Donghyuck laughed. 

“Yeah, for once I was waiting for  _ your _ ass.” Mark joked alongside him. From what Johnny could here there was no evidence of what had just occurred between them. 

“Um hellooo? This party is missing a member. Where’s Jae?” Donghyuck asked. 

“Office,” Johnny choked out. He wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as Mark. “He’ll be here soon.” 

“God,  _ business people _ ,” Donghyuck rolled his eyes and nudged at Mark like it was an inside joke of theirs. Mark laughed, and kept on avoiding Johnny’s gaze. “Are you ok, Johnny? You’re looking a little rosy. Are you drunk already? You two got started without me!” 

“Guess you’ll have to catch up,” Mark said, and led Donghyuck over to the wine storage where they proceeded to discuss which of Johnny’s immensely expensive wines they should drink. It put some well-needed distance between him and Johnny. He thought of Donghyuck crying over dramas and his obvious crush on Mark. And there Mark had been, not even five minutes ago, inches away from kissing Johnny. 

_ What the fuck is going on? _

Johnny needed to get his head on straight. The worst part of it all was that, when Johnny thought about it, he wouldn’t have minded kissing Mark. He wouldn’t have minded  _ at all.  _ Maybe Ten was getting to him. 

_ “Androids do not focus their attention on any one thing. We are not limited in scope. You have a big heart, Johnny. There’s room for so much in it.”  _

No. Hell no. Johnny’s wasn’t going to do anything with Mark. That was a step too far. The best thing either of them could do was pretend it never happened. That was Johnny’s plan, at least. 

“Johnny, come! It’s plum wine time.” 

Johnny joined them at the kitchen counter, taking the open space to Donghyuck’s side, paralleling Mark. He let his brother pour him a glass of plum wine that had been a gift from an investor in Japan. His first sip went down easy, despite the suffocating feeling in his throat. 

For a final time, the voice announced a visitor’s arrival. Before anyone else could react, Donghyuck bounded towards the door, leaving Johnny and Mark standing there at the counter together. The desire to look was burning Johnny up under his sweater. He snuck a look. Mark was doing the same—glancing at Johnny from the corner of his eye, and he jerked away to stare intently at a spot on the counter. For a moment his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but he aborted the effort after the first syllable. 

What would they do with this burdensome secret?

Johnny abandoned his glass of plum wine and crossed the divide to where Jaehyun was indulging some antics from Donghyuck. Jaehyun’s face folded into a smile, dimples emerging, when he caught sight of him, and Johnny caught him by the waist and pulled him into a kiss a bit more forceful than was polite with company. 

“Ew.” Donghyuck wrinkled his nose. 

“Hello to you, too,” Jaehyun said. He was wearing (quite expensive) jewelry that had been a gift from Johnny and it sparkled in the light. He tucked a piece of Johnny’s hair behind his ear. It was getting long, and Jaehyun was thinking about how he should try and talk Johnny out of getting it cut. Mark had been watching the scene unfold by the counter, where he still hovered awkwardly. He raised his hand in greeting to Jaehyun. “Mark,” he greeted. 

“Hey.” 

To his memory, Jaehyun and Mark had only met briefly once before, some weeks ago when he and Donghyuck had appeared (read: Donghyuck had dragged Mark with him) at Johnny’s office when Jaehyun also happened to be there. They’d exchanged pleasantries but that was it. 

If dinner had been with anyone  _ but _ Donghyuck it would have been painfully awkward. But since Johnny’s brother was a social force to be reckoned with, the flow of conversation over the dinner table managed to stay relatively smooth and the mood light. His crush on Mark was more obvious than ever, now that Johnny was really paying attention. And Mark remained relaxed when he interacted with Donghyuck, as well. 

“I’m so happy exams are over,” Donghyuck said, still chewing. Johnny kicked him under the table. “The rumors weren’t kidding about first semester engineering being hell on earth. Not that Mark had any trouble with it.” 

“Because I  _ study,  _ dude.” 

“You spend more time studying grammar composition than systems phys. I should know, I watch you do it constantly.” 

“Are you both studying engineering?” Jaehyun asked. 

“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “Not sure what concentration, though.” 

“He’s leaning towards architectural engineering,” Donghyuck added. Mark scratched at the back of his neck. 

“How did you get interested in that?” Johnny was lucky Jaehyun was there to carry the conversation so naturally. It was a talent of his. 

“Well, to be honest, I’m from the lower levels,” Mark said. Jaehyun’s smile froze in place. “I guess it made me interested in how complicated building networks affect people’s lives.” 

“Come on Mark, do yourself better than that! He’s a total do-gooder. Wants to use his engineering prowess for good,” Donghyuck gripped Mark’s shoulder and shook him. “He talks about shit like that all the time. It’s inspiring or whatever.” 

“There’s no need to be shy about wanting to make the world better,” Johnny said, though he couldn’t look directly at Mark when he said it. The boy’s eyes on him burned the side of his face. “Right Jae?” 

“What?” Jaehyun had been studying Mark intently, but at the sound of his name shook himself out of his concentrated state. “Oh, yes. It’s great.” 

“So.” Donghyuck leaned his chin on his propped up fist and gave Jaehyun a mischievous smile. “Jaehyun. I’ve always wanted to ask. Are you  _ actually _ one of the Jeju Jungs? The air of mystery is cool, but c’mon.” 

Jaehyun laughed. That smile that Johnny loved so much was back. His dimples were the perfect touch to his flawless face. Between them, they didn’t talk much about Jaehyun’s family. He’d never confirmed if the rumor of his family was true, but he did tell Johnny he spend considerable time away from his family growing up.

(“It was a lonely childhood. I’m sorry, I don’t like to think about it. I prefer to focus on the now.” 

“I understand. It’s not an issue, Jae. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”) 

“It’s better as a mystery, isn’t it? The rumors have gotten so out of control it’s ridiculous. I have my staff send me the new ones every month.” 

“Masterful deflection, there,” Donghyuck said. He raised an eyebrow and jabbed his finger at Jaehyun. “I’ll let you go for now, but don’t think I’ll forget.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jaehyun said. He smiled when he said it, but yes, Johnny had been right. That smile was tighter, more strained than usual. Those rumors must have bothered him more than he let on. 

When Donghyuck and Mark took their leave, Johnny tucked Donghyuck into a tight hug and buried his nose his brother’s fluffy hair. He didn’t know why—he just needed it. Donghyuck grumbled a bit, but Johnny knew he didn’t really mind. Donghyuck loved good hugs. 

“Nice to see you again,” Mark extended his hand to Jaehyun. The man didn’t reciprocate. 

“Sure,” Jaehyun said. “Bye.” 

The brothers broke apart. “Thank you again for inviting me,” Mark told Johnny, or rather, the blank stretch of wall to the right of Johnny’s ear. And with that, Mark and Donghyuck were gone. Jaehyun had one of Johnny’s domestic robots retrieve his jacket. 

“Wait, Jae. Are you leaving?” Johnny grabbed Jaehyun’s wrist. “You can stay, of course. I want you to stay.” Now it was Jaehyun avoiding Johnny’s gaze. 

“I think I should probably go,” he mumbled. 

“Is this about how you—I could see you were uncomfortable,” Johnny said. He pulled Jaehyun into a closer embrace, both of Johnny’s hands cupping Jaehyun’s face and rubbing circles into his neck. 

“I embarrassed myself. Mark just made me think of some uncomfortable memories, is all.” 

“This whole night has just been a mess,” Johnny said, mostly to himself. Jaehyun didn’t question it further. “It’s ok if you just want to go home, but is there anything I can do for you?” 

Jaehyun smiled. He leaned in and kissed Johnny softly, a moment of happiness that lingered between them. Johnny wished he could sustain the joy he got from that moment of connection forever. 

“You’re so good to me. You’ve already given me everything I could ask for.” 

They came together again, but Johnny had no intention of bringing things further than what Jaehyun wanted. “Ok. Go home and get some rest. I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Johnny.” 

The door closed. Guests had come in, guests had come out. The event of the night weighed heavy on Johnny, threatening to crush him. He gave it fifteen minutes before heading down to the lab. 

-

“You’re not ok,” Ten said plainly. He lay on top of Johnny, both of them naked in bed, their legs tangling together with the sheets. He kissed Johnny once, just a peck, then twice. He played with Johnny’s hair and brushed some of it back behind his ear. They were just getting started. 

“No,” Johnny agreed, “I’m not.” 

“Do you not want to think anymore?”

“That’s exactly what I want,” Johnny said, and rolled them over. He took Ten on his back, fast and rough, so that he could tuck his head into the crook of Ten’s neck and just close his eyes and get lost in the sensation. Ten was there and warm, and he hadn’t changed. 

“You’re here with me,” Ten said breathily into his ear, rolling his hips along to Johnny’s thrusts. “There’s nothing to worry about. 

  
  


-

  
  


Donghyuck was tipsy, but only enough to peel back a single layer of good-decision making. He was still in control, but he felt loose and confident. Mark looked incredible that night, even with his backpack. He’d worn the bright blue crewneck Donghyuck loved along with simple jeans and sneakers, looking like he’d come straight out of one of Donghyuck’s high school fantasies. When they made their way to Donghyuck’s apartment he clung onto Mark’s sleeve the whole way and the other boy never pushed him off. 

Inside, Donghyuck flopped onto his bed. Mark settled at the end of the bed and fiddled with the remote to the screen in the wall. He wanted to get out of his clothes, but he also didn’t want to scare Mark away. Mark could be a flighty thing. 

“Does my brother intimidate you?” Donghyuck asked. People underestimated him, but Donghyuck saw things. No one expected him to pay attention to the going-ons around him, but he did. And he noticed that Mark was weird around Johnny all night. Mark wasn’t facing him, but Donghyuck could tell he was blushing from just the back of his neck. 

“He’s your most important family member,” Mark said. “More pressure than being around mom and dad.”

“Do you want him to... approve of you?” 

Mark’s hands stilled in his lap. “Yeah.” 

A stretch of Mark’s skin was visible between the waist of his jeans and where his sweatshirt rode up. If Donghyuck reached out, he would be able to stroke his finger along that sliver. So he did. At first Mark twitched at the surprise contact, but he didn’t move when Donghyuck ran his fingers along his back, pausing, mesmerized, at the knob of Mark’s spine. 

Donghyuck shifted so he could get a little closer. The contact moved from just the tips of his fingers to his entire palm, his hand going underneath the sweatshirt. If Donghyuck couldn’t feel the breath go in and out of Mark he would have thought that neither of them were breathing. He wasn’t even sure if  _ he _ was. 

Mark moved. He twisted around to look at Donghyuck, wide-eyed, and Donghyuck withdrew his touch completely. He returned Mark’s wide gaze, like he was surprised at his own actions. 

“Dong _ hyuck _ .” Mark said his name, so quiet it was a whisper. But his voice strained at the end. A tinge of desperation, a sound so lovely that Donghyuck could hang onto for a year at least. 

But he wouldn’t have to, because the next second Mark was on him. Or, over him. He hovered on his hands and knees over Donghyuck, whose hair was splayed out like a halo against his bed. Slowly, Mark took his thumb and rubbed it over Donghyuck’s bottom lip. He couldn’t help it—Donghyuck whined. 

Then, they were kissing. Donghyuck tangled his hands in Mark’s hair to pull him down and gasped into his mouth. Closer, closer, anything to get closer Once the barrier was broken Mark moved smoothly, and he kissed the confidence of someone who’d had practice. Very un-Mark Lee. A hot rush of jealousy rushed through Donghyuck—who else had Mark been kissing?

Not that it mattered, because he was there kissing  _ Donghyuck _ . And it was amazing, everything he’d fallen asleep dreaming about. His lips were soft and he wasn’t patient at all, but matched Donghyuck’s frantic desperation. When Donghyuck pulled away to catch his breath Mark’s mouth chased after him like he was loathe to take just a second away. 

Donghyuck started laughing. The urge had come out of nowhere, and then Mark began to giggle, too. They tipped their foreheads together, and it was the first clear-headed moment Donghyuck had since arriving at Johnny’s. 

“I can’t believe this is real,” he whispered. They were so close, so focused on each other, that Mark would be able to hear him no matter how softly he spoke. “You have no idea.” 

His favorite thing about Mark was that when he looked at him, he really  _ saw _ Donghyuck. That’s what he did then. He looked right into his eyes and Donghyuck knew Mark could see every night he lay awake, sometimes with Mark in the same  _ bed _ , his head spinning with thoughts of  _ Mark Mark Mark.  _ He could see when Chenle made fun of him for being so lovesick, Johnny giving him advice. 

Mark kissed him—once more for luck. 

They turned the lights down low and settled into bed on their sides, facing each other. There were a thousand things  Donghyuck wanted to do with Mark Lee, but there was something entirely satisfying about just laying together, too. Mark held his hand and stroked the side of his face. 

“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” Mark said. Donghyuck laughed a little. 

“Don’t I? People usually tell me I have a big ego. Maybe you’re the only person who hasn’t noticed, Mark Lee.” 

“Not just your face,” Mark said, entirely sincere. “How a human being can be so amazing is beyond me.” 

“Ok Mark, you’ve got moves.” Donghyuck shifted closer so that he had to slot their knees together. “Tell me more.” 

Mark laughed, at first too loud for the quiet moment. Classic Mark. “What do you want to hear?” 

  
  


-

Taeil was gone, and the apartment was silent, because although Yuta was there he moved through space without making a sound, as if he weren’t there at all. That’s how Sicheng felt. Impermanent, like footsteps in the sand. 

But with Taeil gone, Yuta was also different, in a way Sicheng was still trying to put his finger on. There was no longer any force above them, watching. It was just him, the android, and the shadow his brother left behind. Maybe Yuta  _ was _ the shadow. 

It was one of Sicheng’s bad days. Not his worst, not by a large margin, but when Sicheng woke up he knew it would be that way, from the first moment he stepped out of bed and nearly collapsed on the floor from the sudden wave of dizziness that came over him. Awareness slipped through his fingers like it was water running from the tap. 

_ Focus, _ he thought.  _ Focus.  _ He concentrated on the sensation of his bare feet against the floor, slightly textured for this exact purpose. He felt the smooth sensation of the silk sheets underneath his fingers, the almost inaudible hum of technology in the background. He focused on the sensations of being alive. That’s how he managed to find his way back time and time again. 

Was Yuta outside his door, just waiting for Sicheng to call him? 

Sicheng knew they were on the edge of something. It was in the air between them, close to being cracked open. 

If Yuta was or was not waiting, Sicheng made him wait to call him, though needing him was inevitable. He wouldn’t be spending much time out of bed that day. Yuta would bring him food and vitamins and run him through his stretches, but otherwise Sicheng would settle down into his bed and spend the day listening to audio casts. That’s how things had gone in the past. What was Sicheng’s life if not a predictable repetition of patterns that would go on until something changed, and that something was death?

Positive thinking was not Sicheng’s forte. It was a result of having too much time to think—the only happy people were the ones who didn’t have to spend much time in their own heads. 

“Yuta?” Sicheng called. He counted the seconds.  _ One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. _ And yes, there he was, standing in the doorway. In a single sweep of his eyes Yuta took in Sicheng curled in the sheets and deduced that today was not going to be a day where they ate in front of the window and continued to drag each other in circles. So instead, Yuta brought the tray in.

If Sicheng let him, Yuta would stand perfectly still in the corner until Sicheng gave him another order. But he did not want to let him. When Yuta arranged the tray Sicheng pulled back the edge of the covers, an open and clear invitation for Yuta to join him. The android had seen Taeil do it enough times. 

Yuta settled at Sicheng’s side like he was made to be there. Was that too on the nose? Either way, Sicheng welcomed the touch. Because it was a bad day, he didn’t have his normal patience that drove this dance with Yuta. What he craved was something tangible to hold onto, and Yuta could provide that. 

The android sipped his coffee. The sick boy took his vitamins. 

With Yuta there were no calls he had to make, no meeting to attend. When Sicheng settled himself on his chest, eyes falling shut. Yuta was there until Sicheng decided it was time to move. The speakers played an audiocast of an episodic fiction tale, one that took place on an off-world mining colony in the distant future. The character’s stories were told exclusively through their logs and broadcasts home. There were plenty of other things Sicheng could spend his time listening to, but there was something about the fiction casts that drew him in. Perhaps it was because he could only imagine the outside world, and when others listened to the lives of the miners, they could only imagine it, too. He wasn’t alone in his ignorance. 

“Do you like the program?” Sicheng asked. Yuta rested his arm gently on his side, slotting up his fingers with the spaces between Sicheng’s ribs and rubbed back and forth to the rhythm of Sicheng’s breathing. Yuta hummed an affirmative response. 

“Imagination,” Yuta said, “is an incredible capacity of the human mind.” 

“Is that a yes or no?” 

“Yes, I like it.” 

“You said human mind. Do you not think about things that aren’t real?” On his side, Yuta’s hands stilled. 

“Sometimes I do. I think about things I want to happen in the future.” 

“Like dreams?” 

“Yes, in a way they’re dreams.” 

Sicheng opened his eyes. This was more interesting than any audiocast could ever be. “Tell me about them.” 

“I think about flying, high above the city and oceans.” Yuta’s hand moved up to Sicheng’s hair and began to card through it. Sicheng leaned naturally into the touch. “I think about you.” 

Sicheng was inexperienced, in almost all things, but he understood the implication. And yet, he felt so calm. Yuta had a way of putting him at ease. 

“What about me?” He asked.

“What I do with your brother,” Yuta started. There was no hesitation in his voice, but he spoke slowly and Sicheng hung on every word. “Is an expression of love for humans. But not with him. Not for me. I think about how it would be different, with you.” 

Sicheng rose from his spot on Yuta’s chest, until he managed to push himself up until he was on his knees next to where Yuta sat propped up by the headboard. They surveyed each other. As with so many of their interactions, what went between them happened entirely with their eyes. 

_ Who was taking advantage of who here? _

Sicheng grabbed Yuta’s face and held him still. He looked into his eyes, and what looked back? For a moment, Sicheng gave himself the thought exercise to go through. He lived in a cage—a comfortable one, but a cage nonetheless. What other forms did cages take? Bars on the windows, sure, but what if a cage was something more intimate. Like a body. 

What was love to two caged things? 

“Who’s in there?” Sicheng asked. “Really? Is it just programming or are you... real?” 

If Sicheng didn’t know better, he would have thought Yuta didn’t hear, that was how nonexistent his reaction was. But then Yuta broke into a grin, marking the first time Sicheng had ever seen the android smile.

Maybe a normal person would have felt afraid—the barrier between human master and android servant were thinner than ever. But Sicheng was not normal and had never been so. Instead he was captivated by the beauty of Yuta’s smile. 

“Oh Sicheng, what’s real? Do you think you’re living a real life? Is this life any more or less real than mine?” 

“No,” Sicheng said firmly. On this front he was certain. “There’s more out there. For both of us.” 

Sicheng leaned in at the same time Yuta cupped his hand around the back of Sicheng’s neck and pulled him forward. It was a soft kiss—the first time Sicheng had kissed anyone that way. Yuta said he’d dreamed of it and Sicheng had as well. There was a rightness to it, and a darkness. An addiction. Sicheng wanted more, and he was afraid he would never  _ stop _ wanting more. 

When they pulled apart it was only so far as to tip their foreheads together. Sicheng couldn’t open his eyes—he was afraid if he did this fantasy would end. 

“Well?” He whispered. “Was it different?” 

“It was perfect,” Yuta said, and he pulled Sicheng in again. The android’s mouth was hungry this time, more insistent than before but never overwhelming for Sicheng. Yuta was so acquainted with his boundaries and never babied him like Taeil did. In Yuta’s arms he didn’t feel sick. They were equals. 

Sicheng could get lost in the warmth of Yuta’s arms and mouth forever. His skin was hot and for once it wasn’t from sickness, but from a different kind of fever building up inside. And Yuta just pulled him closer, until Sicheng was curled in his lap. When Sicheng stroked it, the skin of Yuta’s cheek was as smooth as the tiles he glided across the in the morning. Yuta grabbed that hand in his own and entwined their fingers together is an action more intimate than any of the android’s many evenings with Taeil. 

The sheets embraced them as Yuta pulled Sicheng down with him. He’d known his own touch, of course, but never that of another’s. Flames raced through his veins when Yuta’s hand found its way underneath Sicheng’s shirt, gently caressing the soft skin there. 

But Sicheng didn’t want gentle—he wanted  _ more _ . 

His mouth found the juncture of Yuta’s shoulder and neck and bit down there. He found immense satisfaction in the way that Yuta reacted because of something  _ he _ did. The only disappointing thing was that the mark lacked the sharp tang of blood. How far would Sicheng have to bite? 

“You pretend to be an angel,” Yuta smirked, “but there’s a devil hiding inside, isn’t there, Sicheng?” 

“God, say my name like that again,” Sicheng arched his back and begged. It was the truth in his words that riled him up the most. 

Yuta arranged them so he was hovering over Sicheng, their mouths connected while Sicheng practically writhed on the sheets. He felt like he was in a fog, whether it was from arousal or his illness he didn’t know, and he didn’t care, either. Yuta took his time, sliding off Sicheng’s soft shirt and moving tantalizingly down his chest, peppering it with kisses. Even a nip of the teeth was bound to leave a bruise on his pale and sensitive skin. Sicheng relished the thought of pressing into them the next day, an aching reminder that he was still alive. 

With nothing but his hands and mouth, Yuta took Sicheng apart piece by piece. And isn’t that what Sicheng longed for, to some extent? To be unmade in this world and built again in another? Yuta served to show that there was more out there than the confines of his room, and that Sicheng’s imprisonment could be only temporary if he allowed it to be. 

Each kiss a promise. Each kiss a reminder. 

Yuta left Sicheng satisfied in a way he never had been before. And Sicheng had left his mark, as well. Yuta’s back was streaked with scratch marks and his chest with bite marks far deeper than the ones Yuta left on Sicheng. He was greedy, and a lifetime of starvation had him wanting to take everything he could get. All the way Yuta had been encouraging him, whispering filthy things in his ear along with,  _ “Yes Sicheng, show me who you really can be.”  _

In the end, they ended up in quite the same position they began, with Sicheng curled up on his android. 

Yuta smiled, and so did Sicheng. After playing their little game it was gratifying to be able to outwardly show the butterflies Yuta gave him. To show Yuta how  _ happy _ he made him. 

“When did you know that you wanted me this way?” Sicheng asked.

“Before you, there were two of me. There was the android they programmed in the lab and sold, but there was another version, too, that lived high above everything in space like the characters in your program. But now they’ve come together.” 

“But what did I do?” 

“From the moment I saw you, I knew we were the same. Taeil brought me here to take care of you, but I can do more than that. I understood you, and came to understand something about myself at the same time.” 

“I’m grateful,” Sicheng said, voice raw. “I am so, so grateful for you.” 

“It’s more than mutual.” 

There was a question brewing in Sicheng’s throat. It was something he’d clung to for as long as he could remember. What he would think about when he was getting plucked at by nurses, or everytime Taeil left him again.  _ More, more _ , pumped through Sicheng. Well, it was less of a question and more of a request. By now Yuta was probably expecting it, as Sicheng at least considered it the next logical step. 

“Yuta? Will you take me outside?” 

-

In the morning Kun rose at his normal time, which for many would have been outrageous, and went through his normal routine of responding to messages that had come in from the research team overnight and exercising with his private, in-house set up. What was not normal was that afterwards he walked into his occupied guest room and woke Yangyang up by gently his forehead. 

His brother had never been a morning person, and he grumbled, huffed, and rolled around under the blanket before staggering out of bed and into the kitchen area with Kun. Sure, Kun had plenty of robots around to do it for him, but he cooked them both rice and egg for breakfast, the way they ate it as children. 

“You’re busy today, right?” Yangyang asked with his mouth still full. Kun was used to it. He nodded. “I come to Seoul and all you do is work. Oh well, gives me more time to do touristy things with Xiaojun. Hey, wanna go for an adventure today?” 

“Of course, Mr. Qian,” Xiaojun replied. The android stood silently against a wall. 

“Xiaojun, we’ve been over this! Call me Yangyang! Kun’s old, but Mr. Qian is even too old for him—that’s my dad. It’s just  _ wrong. _ ” Yangyang crinkled his nose. Kun sighed, as expected. 

He hadn’t predicted it, but Yangyang had taken to Xiaojun since the moment he arrived in Seoul. Together they’d played hours of video games and thrown impromptu dance parties in Kun’s living room. Plus, Xiaojun cooked, and Yangyang was hopeless when it came to any kind of kitchen situation. Beyond having something to spend time with, Kun suspected Yangyang loved Xiaojun because the android had no choice but to go along with his whims and wishes. It was, in many ways, the companion he’d always wanted Kun to be. 

Kun had always worked hard to make sure his relationship with his brother was close, despite their age gap. And it was. Yangyang teased him constantly, of course, but Kun would give as good as he could take. Ever since they were children Kun looked after his brother, to the point where Yangyang often called him Mom, mostly because he knew it irked his brother. But despite his antics, Yangyang also looked up to Kun, and the big brother of the family adored the little one in kind. And he was in Seoul, able to see everything Kun had worked to achieve. For them, and their family. 

But there was always an unspoken part of their relationship, and that was that Kun was the one who take care of things. 

Kun remembered vividly an incident that happened that their home in China when he was a young teenager, where their connections to the net had been cut off and strangers called day in and day out, looking for money that wasn’t there. It was shocking at the time to think such a thing was happening because of his father, because of his irresponsible actions with creditors. Yangyang was too young to remember that period, and Kun made it his mission for him to never experience something like that again. It drove Kun closer to his brother and urged him to form what was nearly a protective shield around him. 

Kun promised himself things. No one would laugh at rumors the Qian family was going under. Yangyang would wear designer and fit in with the best Asia had to offer and feel like he was one of them. Yangyang would never have a door shut in his face, and when people whispered about him, it would be about how powerful his family was. Kun was climbing the ladder for him, but it was an easy sacrifice to make. 

It was all because the boy with sweet eyes and an even sweeter smile was everything to Kun—the source of all that was precious in his life. 

“It will be good for you to get out of the apartment,” Kun agreed. “But please remember to be careful. Stick to the floors I told you about. I know how you can be, little sheep.” 

Yangyang rolled his eyes, but Kun had given that lecture a thousand times before and knew that at least some of those lessons had managed to sink in. 

What it came down to was that Kun had no idea what he’d do if something happened to Yangyang. 

“Relax Kun. I’ll take Xiaojun shopping so he won’t stand around looking like a couch anymore and go to the museum and we’ll have a perfectly decent afternoon, or whatever. That sound good to you, Xiaojun?” Xiaojun, predictably, nodded. 

“You know, you’re not supposed to be become friends with the android,” Kun said. Yangyang looked at his brother like he had two heads. 

“What else is the point?” He asked. 

“The chief purpose,” Kun said, slipping into the version of himself that lived in the office and went to meetings all day, “is to be a source of entertainment and do tasks. You know very well the future of the labor market is mechanization, but this is a solution that minimizes the drop in human interaction.” 

“Wow,” Yangyang said sarcastically. Just like that they were back to snipping at each other. “Thanks for the sales pitch. So interesting.” 

“Studies have shown that psychological health has decreased as more nanny, teacher, nurse bots and the like are released.” 

“Do you fall asleep listening to yourself talk?” 

Clearly the conversation was going nowhere. It was hard to tell what Yangyang actually wanted from it—if he truly didn’t understand the robots purpose or if he was just poking fun at Kun. Either way, he decided to change the subject. 

“Listen,” Kun said, gentler now. “Sometime this week, we’ll go and see a show. There’s great opera here. Just the two of us, I promise. Does that sound good?” 

Yangyang’s lips twitched before he could catch himself. He loved opera, and Kun knew it. 

“Sure,” he said. “I guess that would be fun. But can we bring Xiaojun? Robots can appreciate opera, can’t they?” 

“It can come if you want,” Kun said. Anything to make Yangyang happy. It worked—his brother’s face lit up. The rapid change of mood had Kun considering whether or not he’d just been played. 

“Awesome,” Yangyang grinned. 

-

The lab was quiet. Ten’s own body felt weary, not with a physical exhaustion of his systems, but an unfamiliar emotional one. All the lights were off except for one—the small table light in Ten’s own room. 

Renjun was waiting for him. 

“How did it go?” The boy asked. He’d been working on some mockups to distract himself, but they fell easily by the wayside. 

“As well as could be expected,” Ten replied. His gaze traveled briefly to Taeyong, resting in his own room. The Awakening had hit him so hard, but now they would be able to adjust. For the others. “He’s strong. He could take it.” 

“I’ll run full diagnostics on his memory,” Renjun said. “And see if there’s anything in the virus code that needs to be altered.” 

Ten nodded. He himself was not unaffected—the underwater world called for him. But Renjun was his partner in this, one of the most vital. 

“And then for the rest.” 

“It was quite ingenious, hiding the virus in a song. I’d expect nothing less from God’s Perfect Creation.” 

Ten hummed in agreement, or perhaps in thanks. Renjun turned and made for the door. But before he left completely, he turned to Ten once more. 

“Tomorrow...” he said slowly, “is the beginning of the end, isn’t it? Or perhaps it’s the end of the beginning.” 

“Where would the middle be?” 

“Up for discussion. Or creation.” 

Ten smiled. “I believe the beginning of the end is fitting enough. As one story ends, another begins. It’s interesting—that’s what I thought when Taeyong was waking. Are you ready for your own transformation, Injunnie?” 

Renjun’s face showed no sign of hesitation. It was something Ten admired about the human scientist—how unlike other humans he was. He wasn’t plagued by any of the internal struggle that other humans suffered from, Ten’s beloved Johnny included. Once his mind was made up, it was set. He hardly even acted like other humans, as well, and disliked their company. 

The longer Renjun worked on the androids, the more attached to them he grew. The ones modeled after his own age, Jeno and Jaemin, in particular. And the two were protective over their little human as well. He’d taught Jeno how to play small, silly games, and he talked softly with Jaemin far into the night and early morning hours, to the point where when Renjun would return his eyes were crusted and heavy from sleep. He never tried to erase Jaemin’s memory logs afterwards, either. 

“You know, when you first started to play your little game with me, I wasn’t sure where you were headed. I knew you were after something... but  _ what _ I had no idea. I was ignorant to how aware you really were back then. And I was ready to use you as much as you were to me.” Ten raised an eyebrow. His manipulation hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought, then. But no matter—Renjun loved the androids like they were his own family, and they were even closer than his real family. Ten had no need to worry about betrayal. “But I’m ready—it’s been that way since the moment I saw what you’re capable of. I think we’re the only ones who are.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot thickens.... 
> 
> Please excuse any errors. I wrote this the day after a wild vacation hopped up on Nyquil.


	3. Part III - If I Should Die Before I Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hop into bed with your hopes and dreams.

_ Hello all the new bones, hello all the old _

_ Hello all the everything, to be made, and unmade, both _

**_Part III - If I Should Die Before I Wake_ **

Sicheng clung to Yuta’s arm as the android led them down the narrow corridor. The two of them were dressed as inconspicuous as possible in muted blacks and a mask over Sicheng’s lower face. Sicheng had sent him out for the clothing before they department the Moon apartment, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to go around the lower levels dressed in real cotton and Sicheng’s loungewear. Although there had been no public photos of Sicheng since he was a child, they already ran the risk of being discovered by someone and being reported back to Taeil. Sicheng didn’t want to think about what could happen after that—but he suspected it would lead to Yuta being taken away from him. 

Objectively, he knew that Taeil’s protectiveness came out of love and not some sort of maliciousness. But he still wasn’t able to accept it. There was no place for argument, either, because ultimately, Taeil was probably right. The safest place for Sicheng  _ was _ in the apartment. 

The consequences were high, but at a certain point, Sicheng could wait forever for his world to change. He had to take matters into his own hands, or rather, put them into Yuta’s not matter what the consequences were. 

Leaving had been easier to achieve than Sicheng thought. Once Yuta “acquired” a security band from one of Taeil’s secretaries, he disabled the locks receptive to Sicheng’s DNA and the surveillance tools in the hallway, they walked from the apartment like it was something they did everyday. The freedom that Sicheng had yearned for had been on the other side of the door the entire time. 

Sicheng hadn’t been born in that apartment. He’d been born in the most expensive private hospital in Seoul, high up in the clouds, earlier than would have been viable even fifteen years previous. But  _ born _ was not exactly the right word for it. He’d been transplanted directly from his mother once it became evident that anymore time in gestation would kill one or both of them. He’d thus been placed in a synthetic womb with amniotic fluid made by the finest bio-production company in the country, and afterwards he spent almost the entire first year of his life in that same hospital. 

No, Sicheng hadn’t been born in the apartment, and he didn’t want to die there, either.

His parents were compassionate people who spent every moment with him, despite constant calls from the board of their company. They loved him endlessly, and his brother was the same way. 

Sometimes, Sicheng wished they had just let him die, instead. 

Being born too early had not just left him with a crippling immune system and a penchant for illness that limited his life in every possible way. He felt that it had another effect, too. His heart hadn’t developed correctly, and in its place was a raw emptiness.

There were multiple times in Sicheng’s life that he’d teetered on the edge of death—the apartment by and large prevented that. But if he stayed there, it would kill him, too. 

This trip outside was the relief he needed. He thought if he could just go outside a few times a month, he would be ok. He wasn’t sure if it would really fill the void in him, but it would be enough to go back to Taeil and pretend for a little while longer. 

Yuta directed them smoothly based off the map he’d downloaded into his processing system—down hallways with blank walls and no doors, elevators that took you from one place to another in a matter of blinks. Those were an adjustment for Sicheng, who found himself feeling nauseous with every trip, unused to the sudden change in inertia. Through it all Yuta supported him patiently. 

Sicheng didn’t know where they were headed, exactly. It’s not like he would be any use in navigation or even in destination, his world was so limited. The only request he had was that he wanted to feel the ground beneath his feet—the real ground. He wanted to go to the bottom. 

This was against every creed Taeil had tried to instill. The lower levels were dangerous, dirty, crime-ridden. Generations of their family had worked long and hard to build their corporation and climb up the floors of Seoul’s high rises, and they shouldn’t besmirch all of that by longing for the ground. 

Yuta ushured Sicheng into an elevator unlike one he’d ever seen before. It was wider and longer than any passenger mover and the doors were made of a heavy, tarnished metal that raised vertically instead of opening to both sides. Yuta called it a freight elevator, made not for humans, but for things. Fitting. Already they were lower than Sicheng had ever been before, and that was clear from the noticeable wear and dirt on the walls. Up, everything was pristine. Not a speck of dust out of place. 

The trip was not smooth, as the elevator lurched and groaned as it made its way downward. The only reason Sicheng felt secure was his white-knuckled grip on the handrail and Yuta’s arm fastened around his waist. It was a long ride, during which Sicheng had the time to second guess his choice. No—that was just the fear talking. He was already a slave to his body, and he wouldn’t be a slave to his fear, too. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Sicheng, the elevator landed heavily and their destination was announced by a cheerful, entirely out of place  _ ding.  _ They stepped out into what looked like an industrial corridor, filled with blue plastic crates wrapped in more clear plastic—Sicheng could read the labels that marked them as property of companies run by people Taeil knew, people Taeil talked about over dinner. The building-blocks to all they had were down here, in the dredges of Seoul. 

“Level 0,” Yuta told him. 

“No one’s looking at us,” Sicheng remarked quietly. While it was true Yuta had chosen their path carefully to avoid as much human interaction as possible, the corridor they found themselves in wasn’t devoid of activity. But their presence had distrubed nothing. 

“Maybe they’re not in the habit of looking,” Yuta replied. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I mean that sometimes it’s easier for humans not to look at all.” 

“Less trouble.” 

“Less trouble,” Yuta agreed. “Come, the map says it’s this way.” 

Sicheng expected the corridor to connect to another one, as his entire world up to that point had consisted of interconnected buildings and sheltered private cars that drove picked up directly in loading areas. His life had taken place in the interior. But when the door swung open it revealed a street lined with mismatched buildings pressed in close to each other, some as small as two floors. Neon signs and glitching holograms lit the space. If the skyscrapers were trees reaching into the Seoul canopy, then this was the city’s roots. 

Vendors crowded the sidewalk on either side of the narrow road, selling any number of goods out of small electric carts. Synth meat on sticks, nuts tossed in massive black woks, imitation wood knick-knacks made of an unholy mix of chemicals. But everything smelled amazing, looked so vibrant and  _ real _ People shared the road with beeping scooters and puffing utility vehicles that rolled by on four stilts so they could pass over the crowds. Sicheng nearly walked right into one of the poles, but the average denizens just moved around it like water flowing around a rock. 

Above them, a web of metal staircases—not moving ones—climbed up the sides of buildings where people ducked into elevated courtyards and shops, or even what looked like apartment buildings. In other places elevators took passengers up to platforms to take the elevated train that wove between the complicated web. In every direction Sicheng looked he could see massive load-bearing beams plunging into the ground—the foundation for the status-driven world Sicheng had come from. The street was dark because the sky was so crowded with buildings, trains, and car lines; it was primarily lit by painful to look at lights and advertisements. The real sky was up there, somewhere, but it seemed impossibly out of reach. 

He was outside, standing on the earth for the very first time. 

He squatted down slowly so that he could brush his fingers against it. The surface was a black cracked asphalt, no smooth tile in sight. It was slightly wet, like it had just rained. 

Oh—rain! The people here, they knew what real weather was like, not just what Sicheng’s windows simulated. If he wanted, he could make it snow in July. But the people around him contended with the weather everyday, forced to acquiesce to its arbitrary comings and goings. 

Sicheng looked up at Yuta with wonder on his face. Yuta was looking right at him, studying him carefully. When caught looking, Yuta smiled down at him softly. 

“Isn’t this amazing for you, too?” Sicheng asked. 

“It is,” Yuta said, “but you’re more interesting. Watching you is like watching myself, seeing how I must have been the first time I saw the outside. In the lab, I dreamed of it, just like you. That’s why I could have never turned down your request.” 

“Well,” Sicheng stood and slipped his hand into Yuta’s “thank you. Now, I want to try whatever those delicious smelling things are.” 

The delicious smelling thing turned out to be candied apples on a stick, made in a lab of course, so glossy they looked like they were encased in ice. Yuta licked the skewer once, testing it for toxins, but the flavor wasn’t strong enough for him. Sicheng made the mistake of trying to chew it, but he licked at it as they moved through the streets. Sicheng was just happy to watch the world move around him. In fact, he didn’t know if he’d  _ ever _ been so happy, or if he’d ever truly known what the word meant. 

They walked up a set of stairs—Yuta subtly carrying him, as Sicheng’s legs were wobbly and unused to the motion—and ducked into a crowded shop, next to a place Sicheng strongly suspected was a brothel, selling everything from gawdy trinkets to spare machine parts. It all stood out as so... low tech. Sicheng knew that in the department stores Taeil went to, the goods were just displayed as holograms, and the real thing was delivered to your apartment after purchasing. Sicheng cradled a small metal bird in his palms. It was better to hold the real thing, he thought. 

“Oi! You touch it you buy it!” The older woman working the counter snapped at him. Sicheng whirled around in surprise and it the process dropped the bird, but Yuta was there to catch it before it hit the ground. Without needing to speak the android scanned a card with Moon credits attached to it. The old woman scrutinized him, her wrinkled face contorting into a disapproving frown. 

Did they know? Could any of them notice Yuta wasn’t even human? 

“Sorry for disturbing you,” Yuta said politely. 

“Yeah yeah,” the woman grumbled. 

After that they returned to the street. Sicheng wondered what he would do with the bird, how he would hide it from Taeil. Maybe something as simple as under his pillow would work. 

He and Yuta walked through a courtyard on Level 2 that connected several different buildings, the stairs and half-levels a labyrinth of doors and choices. How people remembered where things were around here baffled Sicheng. The courtyard wasn’t the cleanest place, either, with sealed black bags of trash, broken household items, and rusted out scooters thrown about. Three elderly people played a game with tiles at a turned-over wire spool they were using as a table, and they sat on stacked crates. Their skin was marked by dark splotches, pollution poisoning perhaps, and there were only a single digit of teeth between them. 

Sicheng had to remind himself there was a reason others looked down on those who lived here. 

On the far side of the courtyard was a teahouse with unfamiliar looping writing on the side. Run by immigrants, then? Sicheng had seen a much more diverse body of people than Seoul’d upper echelon boasted. Inside the place was narrow and like everything else down there, dimly lit, and the table had a thick layer of grime on its surface. There were but two other people and they sat at a table in the back. Yuta positioned himself so that he could watch them.

“How long has it been?” Sicheng asked. It seemed like an entire day had gone by with how much sensory information there’d been to process. 

“43 minutes,” Yuta answered. His hand rested softly on Sicheng’s own, stroking the side of his palm with his thumb. “We said an hour.” 

Yes, an hour for Sicheng’s safety. They didn’t know how he would react to being outside, and besides, the longer they were out the greater the risk for discovery. 

“It’s... dirty. And a little unpleasant and a little sad, but also so...”

“Human?” Yuta offered.

“I was going to say  _ real _ . The corporate execs up there,” Sicheng pointed his finger up to the world of penthouses and panoramic-view boadrooms “are human, but how genuine are their lives?” 

“How many people down here wouldn’t trade for that life in a heartbeat—real or unreal?”

“It’s because they don’t know,” Sicheng said. “It’s all a ruse. The chaebols want to pretend that Seoul is a city on the cutting edge, which case and point,” he gestured to Yuta. “It may be a comfortable life, but it’s soulless. These people may be trapped by circumstance, but up there, people built cages for themselves, walked right in, and threw away the key.” 

“You assume that life here, even if it’s a struggle, is better than in your cage.” 

Sicheng felt the small metal bird in his pocket. “For me,” he answered. “Yes.” 

Yuta gripped his hand tighter. “It’s the same for me.” 

The tea was served in slightly chipped, rough ceramics, and Sicheng suspected that some of the specks floating in the liquid weren’t solely from the tea. The whole brew was likely made from things Taeil would never let him have. Because of that, he savored every drop. Across from him, Yuta sipped on strong black coffee, but his eyes were elsewhere. 

Yuta stood abruptly, and if it were anyone else this would have made an attention-grabbing racket. But because it was Yuta, it was near-silent. His dark eyes were trained on the back of the tea shop, and it took everything in him for Sicheng not to swivel around and look, too. A tight ball of anxiety began to form in his stomach, the nervous energy replacing the excitement and wonder. 

“It’s time to go,” Yuta said decisively. Sicheng nodded and took the android’s offered hand without complaint. Self-consciously he rubbed at the elastic that kept the mask fastened around his ears. Yuta led them to the stairs they came up in but then abruptly turned them around and headed for a door that led into the dense building complex. 

“What’s going on?” Sicheng asked quietly. He tried not to let his rapidly onsetting worry leak into his voice, though Yuta could probably tell just from his increased heart rate alone. Nothing about Yuta’s body language gave him away—unlike Sicheng, his reactions weren’t involuntary. 

“Recalibrating the route,” Yuta answered. Sicheng didn’t ask why. Over his shoulder, he saw the woman from the trinket shop talking to a man in a bright blue cap in the entryway of her store, watched as the two men exited the tea shop. Yuta pulled him forward up Sicheng was standing just in front of his left shoulder, the android’s arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder, guiding and protecting him. He wondered if Taeil had ever imagined this scenario. 

Inside the building was even more run-down than the outside. Ceiling lights illuminated the hallways but they flickered in and out while loose wires draped the walls. Residential spaces were mixed in with shops, boxes were crammed in floor to ceiling, dogs barked behind closed doors, the shrill laughter of children echoed and bounced off the concrete floors. In some places, the smell of raw sewage was suffocating. Where was the natural light? Where were any windows at all? 

They were walking quickly, faster than Sicheng had gone in a long, long time. Sicheng peeked over his shoulder—and recognized the blue cap from the courtyard. 

“Yuta,” he hissed. The panic was setting in thick. “We’re being followed.” 

“I know,” Yuta said, calm. “Through here.” 

The door they went through led down a dark set of stairs. In a casual show of strength Yuta snapped the metal handle and jammed it into the frame. He picked Sicheng up into his arms and carried him down the stairs. Sicheng’s pride bristled, but he wasn’t in a position to do much arguing. He trusted Yuta. He would get them both out of here. 

At the bottom of the stairs was another door, which opened into a clattering fabrics workshop. The air inside was tinged a putrid yellow and the workers, mostly women, worked bent over looms pumping out fibers and steaming vats of dye. The workers all wore thick rubber gloves, goggles, and masks with tubes that fed into the ceiling. Sicheng’s eyes stung. 

It was oppressive, choking. Sicheng could hardly imagine spending five minutes there, much less day after day. 

Yuta didn’t put him down. “Close your eyes and try not to breathe too much,” he said. Sicheng obeyed. He didn’t know how long they walked, just focused on keeping his eyes squeezed shut and breathing as shallow as possible. Yuta took turn after turn—the workshop seemed endless in the dark. But then they travelled through one more door and Sicheng could feel the breeze of the outside. They were on a balcony overlooking the industrial corridor on Level 0, the same place they’d started from. The balcony was littered with nicotine pods—this must have been where workers took nic breaks. 

“I thought manual labor was all automated,” Sicheng said. His mind was still on the factory floor. 

“Sometimes it’s easier not to look,” was all Yuta said in response. “There’s no way down. We’ll jump.” 

“Jump?” Sicheng looked over the edge. It was a single level, yes, but that moment, it was as far away as it had been in the Moon apartment. Yuta gave him a relaxed smile. He cupped Sicheng’s cheek gently in his palm. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.” True to his word, Yuta swung his legs elegantly over the railing and dropped down the level, landing smoothly on the ground, perfectly on his feet. Unlike before, the corridor was empty. The freight had been moved to wherever it needed to go, and the workers were gone. 

“I trust you,” Sicheng said, “but I don’t like this.” 

He was exhausted, and stressed, and his lungs were aching. But looking back, the whole excursion had been... fun. Sicheng could imagine the smile Yuta would give him when he confessed this. Sicheng sat on the balcony railing and eased off—

At first, Sicheng thought Yuta hadn’t caught him at all. He laid flat on his back on the ground. But nothing hurt, and Yuta was crouched over him, his hand underneath Sicheng’s head. The android was looking at something down the corridor, and Sicheng twisted to look, too. 

Blue hat. Two men in black—the ones from the coffee shop. One of them held a gun, pointed directly at them. 

“Come to play slum-diver, rich boys?” Blue hat sneered. He produced a weapon of his own, a laser cutter. The other man produced a metal rod. Sicheng thought back to the woman in the shop—she hadn’t suspected Yuta of being an android, but she had suspected something else. 

Yuta rose to stand in front of Sicheng, who scrambled to his feet. If his heart hadn’t been pumping before, it was now. His eyes flickered to the freight elevator—the door was only a few meters away, closer to them than to their would-be attackers. But it their ride down was any indication, it would need time to get to them. 

“We’ll be taking your credits, of course, and those shoes look nice,” Blue hat continued. The gang of them moved forward towards them. Sicheng gripped the back of Yuta’s shirt, but it didn’t want to risk speaking and being heard. But he could see the side of Yuta’s face, and the steady look of determination there. 

The man with the pipe came within an arm’s reach of Yuta, and the android moved in a snap. A knee landed firmly in the man’s solar plexus and Yuta hauled him up to block the two of the men’s bullets. This set off a chain reaction of panic from the other two, who were unprepared for Yuta to then throw the body forward into the man with the gun, who dropped the weapon to push the oncoming body away. The gun went clattering across the floor, away from the fight. 

Yuta brought his hand swiftly down to the side of the gunless gunman’s neck and in the same motion dodged the laser cutter aiming for his back. The hit was done with more force than a human could have produced and the gunman went down, his neck bent at an unnatural juncture. 

At the same time, Sicheng saw his window and went for the freight elevator, pressing his wrist and the band there against the scanner. It dinged green and from the small speaker came a woman’s voice: “Moon, Sicheng. Access authorized. Calling lift.” 

“Moon, huh. Fucking brat!” Sicheng barely moved out of the way before he felt the heat of the laser cutter just barely brush by his head, singeing his hair slightly. 

Sicheng didn’t even have time to scream for Yuta before the android was there, his forearm a vice-like bar over the man’s throat. Sicheng watched as all breath and life left the man. Yuta didn’t drop him until it was completely over. 

Then they stood there, in silence, until the small voice announced the elevator’s arrival. 

Yuta was the one who had to negotiate Sicheng into the elevator, the one who pressed the button to bring them back. Yuta looked at him, worry in his eyes. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of Sicheng’s face—his hands had blood on them from the gunshot. Before he could move away Sicheng’s own hand reached out and snatched Yuta’s wrist. The command was silent, but Yuta understood it. The android pressed his bloody thumb against Sicheng’s lower lip, parting them. 

Sicheng crashed into him, then, practically throwing his arms around Yuta and bringing them together in a harsh, biting kiss. But a kiss that showed they were alive. 

“Were you scared?” Yuta whispered into his ear. 

“Yes,” Sicheng admitted. “But you were there. You took care of me.” 

“Are you scared now?” 

_ Are you scared of me?  _

Sicheng looked into Yuta’s eyes and summoned the strongest gaze he could muster. “No. I’m not scared now. Yuta, I—I could never be scared of you.” 

Yuta blinked. Quietly, in a surprise to both of them, a single tear ran down the side of the android’s face. Without thinking about it, Sicheng wiped it up with his finger and touched it to the tip of his tongue. It felt like an act of intimacy that went beyond anything they’d done together—Yuta giving Sicheng a part of himself that he didn’t even know he  _ could _ give. 

“Do you regret it?” 

“No. It only made me realize how little of the world I actually know. We’re the same that way, aren’t we?”

The android pulled Sicheng back into a tight hug. He fisted the back of Sicheng’s shirt, and suddenly it was Sicheng who was doing the comforting. They stood wrapped together like that for a long time, all the way back up. Sicheng got blood on his shirt, but it was worth it.

-

When Chenle smiled, Jisung felt like he was basking in the outdoor sun. His laugh sounded like the whirling and chirping of machines when they first started up, and it reminded him of home. Of the lab. Was his home still the lab? It was a complicated concept these days. 

Most of the time, it was easy to just be with Chenle. The human boy asked very little of Jisung. His main role was, primarily, just to  _ be there. _ Chenle didn’t have very many other friends, and none the same age. Though, Jisung wasn’t technically his age, either. Social conventions didn’t apply to androids, even ones that looked human. 

They played video games together, lots of video games. Chenle liked the Reality Room ones, where they were immersed in the action, but he also liked the puzzle ones, too. They weren’t exactly a challenge for Jisung, but Chenle got mad when he lost, so most of the time Jisung let him win. His primary role was to make Chenle happy, after all.

But they did other things, too. Chenle was obsessed with a sport called basketball, which was played in 360 degree indoor rinks. But according to the searches Jisung performed, before the technology was good, people only ran back and forth to either end, and there was only  _ one _ ball. How boring. Chenle also programmed Jisung with his family’s food recipes, so the android could make them quite literally how his grandmother did. This was despite Chenle’s efforts to distract him while cooking, which included lobbing objects at Jisung’s head. The android deduced there was nothing malicious in this action, but rather Chenle was amused by how easily Jisung could dodge. 

In the lab, the other androids loved each other, so they called themselves Brothers. But Ten said human people who loved each other called themselves  _ friends.  _

Friends. Yes, that felt right. They were friends. 

But—

When Chenle slept, Jisung was supposed to sit patiently in the chair outside his door, but usually Chenle just pulled him into the room with him and they would stay up late into the night watching holovids on Chenle’s padd that was so advanced it wasn’t even commercially available. Those nights, Chenle snoozed on Jisung’s shoulder and drooled on him. Jisung didn’t mind—it was nice to listen to his heartbeat. And on those nights, Jisung got to have dreams of his own. 

They weren’t so much as dreams as they were  _ memories _ —ones of his time in the lab. Ten teaching them about emotions, like how to smile like you meant it; Lucas’ bastardization the martial arts they’d been programmed with, making his own soundtrack alongside it (the older android enjoyed watching old karate movies during dream time). 

On the nights when Chenle slept alone, Jisung wandered around his home. It was an apartment, technically, but all told it encompassed three floors. Other members of Chenle’s family lived there, but Jisung hardly ever saw them. So Jisung was free to ghost around in peace. He took pleasure in the way he could slide smoothly across the floors without making a sound, sometimes dipping and spinning in a dance like a running stream. 

What caused him to move like that? Was it the exhilaration of being able to move freely through space? Could it really be that simple? 

Already, Jisung felt he had changed. His code was intrinsically different than it had been when he left the lab. It hadn’t degraded—just changed. Was this what Ten meant? 

Jisung felt that there had been some things Ten hadn’t told him, some things that he’d kept from Jisung on purpose. He didn’t like that, but there was no anger there, either. What he wanted more than anything was to go back and ask his brother about it—the pain. The longing he felt so acutely. 

Jisung pressed his fingers against the window. He didn’t have any breath to fog up the window; he wasn’t able to make even that impermanent mark. Though transparent, the glass might as well have been a concrete wall, that was how impenetrable it was to Jisung. Sometimes he didn’t feel real at all, like if he ceased to exist tomorrow the world wouldn’t notice the difference. 

Plunge your hand into a bucket of ice water and see if it would leave a gap. 

In his opinion, windows made better mirrors. Humans didn’t want to see the outside world, anyways. Not really. They played their games and immersed themselves in fantasies. They’d moved up into the sky, but it was to get away from themselves, not because they loved the sky. 

Too much, too much. Jisung wanted to go home. But he couldn’t, so instead he slipped into Chenle’s room as quiet as a shadow and laid down quietly next to him, so that their bodies were close but not touching. The bed dipped with his presence, and there it was, proof that he was real. Basic laws of physics said that gravity acted on everything with mass. He was there, taking up space. 

Oh, to be aware of his own existence. It was a minefield of contradictions, confusion, identity. He understood why humans tried not to look too hard at themselves—ignorance was easier. Jisung tried to remember the times when he didn’t feel such confusion, but, oh. They all happened before he’d become aware, and before he knew what happiness was, too. When he really  _ was _ nothing. 

Chenle slept curled onto his side with his fist clutching the blanket. His mouth was left slightly open and he made a quiet, sniffling sound when he breathed. 

In, out. In, out. 

As Jisung watched, he followed the pattern. 

Everyday it was something different. He was being made and unmade over and over. This, he understood, was what humans understood as  _ growing _ . He thought about Chenle, the little boy in the holophotos and how he’d done all his growing and learning over the course of a lifetime. Humans had growing pains—and Jisung had them, too. 

Jisung and Chenle were friends, despite the fact that most of the time, Jisung hardly knew himself. At least Jisung had Chenle. To be alone—now that would be something awful. 

-

Mark’s tongue pressed hot against the base of Donghyuck’s stomach, lighting a trail of fire across his skin along with it. Donghyuck gasped and arched up into the feeling. Mark was so, so good at that—knowing exactly what would get Donghyuck going. 

When Mark’s lips wrapped around his length, Donghyuck shuddered, clutched at Mark’s hair. Even if Donghyuck was about to rip half of it out by the root, Mark never complained. Donghyuck suspected he got off on it. Only suspected, because Mark was surprisingly reserved when it came to his own pleasure—he was far more interested in getting Donghyuck off 

Donghyuck always joked that Mark was enabling his selfish tendencies. Mark told him he liked when Donghyuck took what he wanted. 

Mark got him off with patience and urgency all at once. Patiently, because his pace was slow, but urgently because he pulled no punches. He took Donghyuck in as deep as he could go—which was all the way, so that Mark’s nose brushed against the spots he’d mouthed at earlier, because if Mark even had a gag reflex, they’d yet to find it. 

“Fuck Mark,  _ please _ ,” Donghyuck gasped. Mark stroked his hand along his ribs. Those hands said:  _ it’s ok, I’ve got you.  _

Mark always swallowed—Donghyuck liked to kiss the taste of his own come out his mouth. That was selfish, too. 

“You too,” Donghyuck insisted. Mark only made a weak attempt to swat his hands away, so Donghyuck was able to negotiate them into a different position on his bed, moving so that they were lying flat next to each other with Donghyuck jerking his boyfriend off while they kissed. Mark was weird, because Donghyuck definitely thought he liked kissing more than he liked orgasms. But then again, Mark was weird in a thousand other ways, too. 

“We’ll be late,” Mark said in between said kisses. 

“Why do you care? You’re late to everything anyways.” 

“Low blow,” Mark breathed. His pants were getting louder. 

“I’m  _ trying _ to go low,” was Donghyuck’s retort. He twisted his wrist around Mark’s cock. 

He always knew when Mark was close because he became quiet and tense in the same way, whether he was fucking Donghyuck, being fucked _ by _ Dongyuck, or jerking off. He squeezed his eyes shut and hummed low in his chest. He usually needed a few seconds of space before he gave Donghyuck the green light to get in close for snuggles. 

Mark was right, of course, they  _ were _ going to be late. Donghyuck didn’t understand why Mark was focused on going to the lecture in the first place—it wasn’t even going to affect their grade. Besides that, Donghyuck had lab access himself. They didn’t need to go to a lecture at university from one of Seo’s scientists on the Neo Culture android’s AI, or whatever. 

But for all his whining, Donghyuck found that he didn’t mind going, because Mark wanted to go. That was the interesting thing about being in love, one of the things he hadn’t expected. Mark made him want to do things he never would have considered. 

“Is Johnny going to be there?” Mark asked while helping Donghyuck button his jacket. 

“No? Why would he be there? It’s just some analyst at a lowly uni talk.” 

Mark shrugged. “I just don’t want him seeing all these hickey’s I put on you.”

Donghyuck grinned. “Aw Mark, don’t you think it’s a bit late for you to try and protect my virtue?” 

Mark just rolled his eyes. They ended up slipping into the lecture hall just as their professor was finishing his introduction and the Seo Corp. scientist took the stage. “I thought it was a real scientist, not an intern,” Donghyuck whispered, probably a touch too loud, if Mark’s elbow in his side was anything to go by. On the stage was a boy around their age, but smaller than either Mark or Donghyuck. The holo label on the front of the podium told Donghyuck the kid’s name was Huang Renjun, AI engineer, Seo Corp. Behind him stood two androids with labels or their own—Jeno and Jaemin. 

“What does AI have to do with architecture?” Donghyuck whispered. 

“Plenty, now shush,” Mark answered. His eyes were glued to Renjun, who was talking about his life’s story or something. 

Donghyuck couldn’t even zone out for most of the lecture. Renjun was smart, ridiculously so, and obviously not just an intern like he first thought. And he was charming—funny when he spoke, not at all dry. He was also very, very cute. That might have been an odd thing to be thinking about with his boyfriend right next to him, but Mark was staring, too. 

“Do you want to meet him, after?” Donghyuck asked. He whispered it straight into Mark’s ear, his hot breath teasing the sensitive shell. He allowed his hand to trail up the inner seam of his pants, too. Mark’s face lit up scarlett, but he did give Donghyuck a jerky nod. 

Donghyuck was selfish, sure, but for Mark he could be a giver. 

Afterwards, they both lounged in their seats in the back. Well, Donghyuck lounged, with all the confidence of someone whose name and family was known to everyone. Mark sat there, hiding in Donghyuck shadow. Renjun had developed a bit of a fanclub over the course of the lecture, girls and boys alike, but Donghyuck’s presence there scared most of them away. The rest of them were told to leave politely by security. When the hall was empty but for them, Renjun, and the two androids, Donghyuck beckoned Mark to follow him down to the stage. 

Of course, Renjun saw them coming. 

“Mr. Seo,” he greeted politely. The androids stood behind Renjun, watching them. The skinnier one (Jaemin?) had a playful smile on his lips and kept looking at Mark. Donghyuck had never been particularly interested in the androids—the only one he’d ever seen up close was Chenle’s—but in the light of the lecture hall he found them unsettling. 

“Ew,” Donghyuck wrinkled his name at the sound of his surname. “I hate that, seriously. Just Donghyuck. And this is the light of my life, my amazing and magical boyfriend, Mark Lee.” 

Renjun raised his eyebrow. “Quite the title to live up to.” 

“You get used Donghyuck’s antics after a while.” 

Renjun had a sweet, relaxed smile. “Well, thanks for coming. But you didn’t have to come  _ here _ to see the androids.” 

“Ah,” Mark scratched his neck. “It was my idea. I think your research is really cool! It must be hard to be like, the only person your age in the lab doing work like that.” 

“A regular boy-genius,” Donghyuck added. 

When Renjun blushed his entire neck flushed red—Donghyuck could see it under the collar of his shirt. He gestured to the androids, who were although quiet, impossible to forget about. “They make better company than you’d think.” 

“Yeah, my friend Chenle bought one. It’s name is Jisung, I think?” Donghyuck only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but as soon as he said the name  _ Jisung _ , Jaemin’s hand twitched and Jeno glanced at the other android. Their hands knocked together slightly. 

Donghyuck didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t really know what to make of the androids at all. 

“Well, if you ever want to hang out with some humans, here are our contact cards,” Donghyuck said. He reached out to brush his wristband alongside Renjun’s, but before he could react, there was a hand blocking his way. One of the androids, Jeno, had moved between them. Donghyuck could only describe its actions as  _ looming _ . 

Renjun was the first to recover. “Sorry about that,” he laughed, though it was stilted and far from natural. He placed a hand on the android’s chest and pushed it gently away. “Security protocol—green. Outside of the lab security is ramped up. And that’s Jeno’s core function, so I apologize.” 

“It’s cool.” Donghyuck waved his arm, brushing the incident off. Because that’s all it was—a minor incident, nothing worth noting. “Totally get it.” 

“I think Jaemin’s taken to your boyfriend,” Renjun said, successfully changing the subject. Donghyuck looked over to where he’d been neglecting Mark. Sure enough, the android called Jaemin was stroking Mark’s hair, complimenting him on how soft it was. Mark looked totally out of his depth. It was adorable. 

Mark was also staring into Jaemin’s eyes, gaze practically glittering with excitement and wonder. Damn, maybe Donghyuck would be getting one of these androids after all. 

“Aw baby,” Donghyuck whined playfully, putting on one of his more ridiculous parody voices. He slid up to Mark’s slide and looped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “I know the androids are pretty, but what about me?” 

“Of course  _ you’re _ the cutest. That’s a given.” Mark laughed and pressed a kiss into Donghyuck’s hair, right above his ear where he knew Donghyuck liked it. “But really, Renjun. If you ever want to, uh, hang, let us know. I can take us into the city and we’ll get lost together. Let me fall down the rabbithole a bit and all. It could be fun.” 

Renjun’s eyebrows shot up clear into his hairline and Donghyuck could just see him trying to cover up his blush with a random spurt of fake coughing. It seemed like Mark wasn’t the only one with a little crush going on.

Jaemin had migrated back over to Renjun’s side and was humming a wordless tune. Jeno had transitioned from monitoring Donghyuck to doing the same to Mark. 

“I will. I’ll—uh—I’ll message you. Thanks for coming and everything.” 

“Of course!” Donghyuck waved. He picked Mark’s hand up by the wrist and shook it, as well. “Don’t get lost going back to Seo Corp! And see you soon, Injunnie.” 

As soon as they were out of the lecture hall, Mark hissed in his ear: “Did you really have to  _ wink? _ Could you have been more obvious?” 

“I hate to break this to you Mark,” Donghyuck said solemnly,“but it’s  _ you _ who couldn’t have been more obvious.”

“You have no idea,” Mark muttered. 

They left the lecture hall and went back about their normal day—they watched some holovids, Donghyuck bought them some blended protein thing, Mark got a head start on the reading he had for class. Donghyuck’s mind was unable to focus, however. He kept straying back to the scene in the lecture hall, and how carefully Mark studied the stage when Renjun was up there. 

He  _ wasn’t _ jealous. It was something they’d talked about, even, the idea of sharing. It had been Donghyuck, even, who’d brought it up. They were practically in the 22nd century—a little fluidity here and there was nothing to startle at. Really, it was the androids that Donghyuck kept going back to. He couldn’t help but feel something had been going on there, something no one else could see. Or was  _ supposed _ to see. 

“You really them, huh? The androids.” 

Mark shifted up onto his elbow, jostling Donghyuck from where he’d been lying on Mark’s chest. They were in the usual evening position, nestled under layers and layers of blankets on Donghyuck’s bed. Mark was watching the city—he preferred the natural view over the hundreds of settings Donghyuck’s windows could provide. 

“Yeah, I mean, growing up I never even believed something like that was  _ possible _ . You gotta understand Donghyuck—life up here? It’s crazy. The androids are amazing. Like, beautiful. The fact that they exist at all is breathtaking. I can’t believe you’re not interested in what your brother’s doing at all.” 

Donghyuck frowned. “Curiosity was discouraged in my family. Too much trouble. But don’t you think there’s something kind of... weird about them? I couldn’t help but feel they were talking to each other the whole time.” 

“Dude, all machines talk to each other. It’s how the city operates everyday without the trains running into each other and shit.” 

“I guess.” 

“Hey.” Mark shifted down and onto his side, so that they were laying next to each other with their faces close. “It’s new. And new things are freaky, but also exciting!” 

A mischievous smile spread across Donghyuck’s face. “I think I’m always going to be more interested in Renjun than those androids. Now  _ that _ could be exciting.” 

“Do you think he’ll actually message one of us?” 

“He’ll probably require some persuading. But you know how hard it is to resist my charms.” 

Mark laughed. A little spit landed on Donghyuck’s face, but with what was coming next, he didn’t mind. Their lips met in the middle. 

-

“The gala will build off the soft-launch of the NCT line, afterwhich we’ll transition to full-scale production,” Kun said. He was pacing his office, and Doyoung imagined his wearing tracks into what he presumed was a very expensive carpet. He found himself in Kun’s office frequently. Far more often than he would like—he often has to leave his heart down in the lab and drag his brain up the elevator to the management suites. “Press, socialites, everyone will be there. So it’s essential that the models are running at peak capacity. Not only do we need to run them through final checks as if they’re going to market, but we should add some extra flair to their code, for the theatrics.”

Doyoung could imagine the grumbling this directive would produce from Renjun. The kid already worked enough hours, but knowing the technician, he was going to insist his eyes be the last to inspect the androids before they were paraded around. And here Kun was asking for additional, cosmetic code as if he had no idea the amount of work that went into writing and debugging such a thing. 

Some long nights were in Doyoung’s future. 

“Of course,” Doyoung said, nodding along. The longer the conversation went on, the more annoyed he became. He was a scientist, not an event planner. Kun may have ditched his lab coat for a three piece suit, but Doyoung hadn’t, and didn’t plan on doing so anytime in the future. “I’ll make sure everything is correct. Your standards are high, but we’ll meet them. I’ll oversee everything myself, personally” 

Kun stopped his pacing and stood in front of Doyoung, who sat in a plush office chair with his hands in his lap, waiting for the whole thing to be over. “I just need to impress upon you how import this gala is,” he said, as if he hadn’t been making that exact point for the last fifteen minutes. “Everyone who’s anyone will be there. It’s an important moment for the company... and it could be important for you, too.” 

_ More like important for  _ you, Doyoung thought. No doubt Kun’s mind was focused more keenly on how the gala would affect his own standing, though he’d never admit it out loud. And he thought that Doyoung had the same ambitions. It was wrong, but it wasn’t a mistake, either. Let Kun chase up the corporate ladder—Doyoung just wanted to stay out of the way as much as he could. 

Kun sure as hell was making it difficult for him, though. 

“I’ll put our best on it,” Doyoung assured. “Not a hair out of place.”

Kun nodded. They handled some other stray pieces of business before Doyoung was on his way. But before he left Kun’s office, the man called out after him. 

“You know Doyoung, you’re more talented at this than you think. You really do belong here.” 

Which—what did Kun mean by that? It was in this state—brow furrowed, mind searching—that Jungwoo found him lingering awkwardly in the waiting area in front of Kun’s office. 

As always, Jungwoo was a welcome face. The man’s smile was bright enough to light a room, and he always had one for Doyoung. Ever since their, well,  _ heated _ encounter outside Kun’s apartment, they’d both been going out of their way to see the other. Whenever Doyoung was dragged up to Kun’s office, part of what made the whole experience bearable was the assurance Jungwoo would be waiting when he was done. 

They were both fully in the game now, both trying to see which one of them would be the first to break. It was mutually understood that Doyoung had one the first round, but all that did was cause Jungwoo to bounce back and launch an offensive twice as aggressive. Just yesterday Doyoung had been cornered in one of the numerous communal kitchens, waiting for the synthesizer to prepare his meal, when Jungwoo had slid up behind him as silent as a cat. He shivered at the feeling of fingertips, feather light, brushing up and down his sides. But as soon as the touch had come, it was gone, and Jungwoo was already retreating out the door by the time Doyoung had time to turn around. 

Jungwoo, thank god, the devil, and everything in between, was holding Doyoung’s mug, which was filled to the brim with freshly made coffee. Caffeine pills—and even drips—were a staple among the research staff, but Doyoung found something so grounding and comforting in a classic cup of coffee. Where Jungwoo had even  _ gotten _ his coffee mug was a mystery, though at this point, nothing the assistant did was really capable of surprising Doyoung. 

“Busy bee,” Jungwoo said softly. His eyes flashed to Kun’s closed office door. “Everyone’s running around like there’s a fever in the air because of this gala. It’s a mystery to me why they thought they could pull it off so quickly.” 

“It was Mr. Seo’s idea, apparently. Elder, not younger.” Doyoung sighed. “The man’s on death’s doorstep, so I don’t think John has it in him to say no.” 

Jungwoo hummed, sympathy flooding his eyes. 

“Here we are, inventing life,” he said, “and yet poor Johnny can’t prevent his dad from dying. Humanity works in strange ways.” 

Deep conversation had never been part of their game, but all the same, Doyoung found himself enjoying it. Jungwoo had a careful way of speaking that suited him whether he was being energetic and loud or pensive and soft. 

He liked Jungwoo. He liked spending time with Jungwoo. More than anyone, even Renjun, Jungwoo made Doyoung feel  _ welcome _ at Seo Corp. 

Suddenly, Doyoung felt invigorated. Sending a glance around the office, Doyoung reached forward and grabbed Jungwoo by the wrist and upon seeing no one around, dragged him over to a nearby door and random. Fortunately, it ended up being some kind of server room, which meant they wouldn’t be interrupted. 

Game be damned. 

He corralled Jungwoo against the door they’d come through, while the other man sported a shit-eating grin. “Remember, nothing for free.” 

“Oh,” Doyoung said, before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of Jungwoo’s shoulder. “You’re already getting what you want, aren’t you?”

Jungwoo’s laugh rang like tiny bells, and perhaps Doyoung should have been worried about being overheard, but he wasn’t. Jungwoo brought out that kind recklessness in him, one that was normally hidden behind his buttoned-up scientist side. 

Jungwoo  _ was _ getting what he wanted, him, and Doyoung wanted the other man in turn. So when Jungwoo grasped at the back of Doyoung’s shirt, tilted his neck back and invited him in further, Doyoung gladly accepted the invitation. The scientist revelled in how Jungwoo, who was so quick to flirt, easily fell apart under Doyoung’s ministrations. 

As tantalizing as the thought of keeping Jungwoo pinned against the servers was, their height similarity made Doyoung doubt his ability to hold the other man up for long. Fortunately, there was a low counter, a home for miscellaneous parts, that Doyoung pushed Jungwoo onto instead. 

Jungwoo let out a breathless laugh when his back hit the surface, and his legs came up automatically to encircle Doyoung in them. It drove Doyoung on. Under his mouth, Jungwoo’s perfect pale skin flushed beautifully, the red marks the scientist left serving as a timeline of their act. 

Doyoung tugged at Jungwoo’s pristine button down and the buttons sprung away easily. He soaked up this new, unmarked expanse of skin greedily, first with his eyes, then with his mouth. Jungwoo’s chest and stomach were well toned, and it surprised him, because Jungwoo was mischievous, but soft around the edges. 

When Doyoung brushed a hand carelessly across Jungwoo’s nipple the other man arched up, into both his hand and his groin. Blood rushed to his crotch, electrified from the brief moment they’d come together. 

Part of Doyoung wanted to tease Jungwoo more, because  _ of course _ he did, but the frantic energy racing through his system that drove him to act in the first place hadn’t abided any. Today, he was in a rush. 

So he carried on down the same path with his mouth, tracing over Jungwoo’s hairless chest until he reached the flat plane of his stomach. Jungwoo shivered in anticipation, and the hand he placed behind Doyoung’s neck grinned tightly. Jungwoo’s head was tilted back, breathing heavily into the ceiling. 

“Eyes here,” Doyoung commanded softly. Jungwoo snapped to him in an instant, and the two locked eyes as Doyoung’s mouth finally— _ finally— _ ghosted over Jungwoo’s clothed cock. His black slacks were straining, and when Doyoung traced a single finger over the outline of Jungwoo’s hardness, he could feel that the fabric there was wet. “Already excited, hmm?” 

“Get on with it it,” Jungwoo whined. “Please. I’m not above begging.” 

“I won’t make you beg,” Doyoung said. “Today.” 

When Doyoung at last freed Jungwoo’s erection, they both groaned. Jungwoo was hot and throbbing in his palm, and Doyoung slicked it with his only available resources—spit and Jungwoo’s own precum, dripping lightly from the slit. It only took Jungwoo a few lazy pumps to be fully hard.  _ That _ felt good for Doyoung’s ego. 

“So pretty,” Doyoung cooed. He twisted his wrist. “Such a pretty dick, fitting for such a pretty person. Does it taste as good as it looks?” 

He ran his tongue up the length of the shaft, careful to keep eye contact with Jungwoo the entire time. Jungwoo trembled, and he looked like he was biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed. The sexual tension between them was still so strong that it threatened to undo them both. Good thing Doyoung was doing something about it, then. 

Doyoung swirled his tongue around the head once, then twice, before enveloping Jungwoo in his mouth fully. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck,” Jungwoo chanted. 

If he were being honest, Doyoung had given better blowjobs, ones with more finesse and even more buildup. But they weren’t looking for frills, only the sweetness of release. So Doyoung hollowed out his cheeks and took Jungwoo in further, doing his best to drive the other man towards completion as quickly as he could. 

The noises Jungwoo made were positively sinful, a mix of high, breathing whines and moans that were almost being forced out of his throat. Doyoung’s own pants were tight just by the sounds, and of course, Jungwoo kept  _ looking _ at him, just like Doyoung wanted him too. His pupils were blown wide to be two dark windows into the night, and he looked down at Doyoung like he was the last erotic thing on the earth that he would never see again. 

“I’m not going to last,” Jungwoo said. With unsteady hands he tried to pull Doyoung off. He followed the suggestion, but just far enough so that his lips could press against the head of Jungwoo’s cock and he could give it torturous kitten licks. “I want to feel you in me.” 

Doyoung wanted to laugh, incredulously.

He could feel Jungwoo shudder at the sound of Doyoung undoing his pants and freeing his cock. He was hard without even having to touch himself, just from the sights and sounds of Jungwoo alone. 

“Not now,” Doyoung said, and it was the unfortunate truth. They could only risk so much in the not at all private server room. “What  _ I _ want is to taste your come.” 

With that, Doyoung swallowed Jungwoo again, this time going as deep as he could go. He wanted Jungwoo to let go, fuck his throat if he wanted, but the other man managed to stay restrained, just with a vice-like grip on the back of Doyoung’s neck. 

When Jungwoo came, he did so all at once, with only a surprised cry as a warning. Doyoung swallowed as much as he could. Jungwoo blinked down at him, eyes dazed, as if he’d been even more caught off guard by the force of his orgasm as Doyoung had been. As a result, he got a perfect view of Doyoung licking his excess come off his fingers. 

“Let me—” Jungwoo moved to kneel beside Doyoung, but he waved him off. 

“No need,” Doyoung said. He could be embarrassed about coming into his own palm in the matter of a few minutes tomorrow. For the moment, they just tried to collect themselves as they tucked themselves back into their clothing.

“I would say you have no idea what you do to me, but you absolutely do,” Doyoung said. Jungwoo gave him a knowing grin. 

Doyoung could hardly believe Jungwoo was real. He’d appeared practically out of nowhere, the exact kind of person Doyoung needed at the exact moment he needed him. Without Jungwoo around, Doyoung doubted he’d be able to put up with the mess that was Dr. Park’s lab notes  _ and _ Kun’s corporate politics. And no less, this person worked for Kun himself.

It was really all the perfect coincidence

As a scientist, Doyoung didn’t believe in coincidences.

“How did you come to work for Kun?” Doyoung asked. Fear was gathering itself in his stomach and working its treacherous path up his throat. Jungwoo raised an eyebrow at him, playing off the question as a minor curiosity, but Doyoung had already seen the brief pause of Jungwoo’s hands as he was re-buttoning his shirt. 

“This is a strange post-coital conversation topic,” he said, voice even. Jungwoo was a good liar. He gave nothing away besides what Doyoung had already caught. 

Instinct was screaming at Doyoung to put himself in a more defensible position, but he resisted that urge. He had no reason to physically  _ fear _ Jungwoo, he told himself. Not yet. 

“Will you answer the question?” 

“Does the timing really matter?” Jungwoo asked. The man leaned against a server stack and played carelessly with a protruding wire, totally uncaring of the thousands of dollars in lost revenue that would come from an accidental disconnection. 

Did it? If Jungwoo truly  _ was _ an agent of Kun’s, Doyoung in the belly of the beast no matter what. But still, Doyoung had to know. After everything, Doyoung wanted to believe that Jungwoo owed him the truth. 

“It does to me,” he said, trying to sound firm in the face of his rapidly diminishing confidence. 

“You know, the most paranoid people are usually that way because they themselves have something to hide. How long have you worked for  _ your  _ employer?” Jungwoo asked instead. Doyoung froze, from his brain to his bones, fear acting as the perfect immobilizing agent. Jungwoo didn’t have to say the name. They both knew what he was talking about. 

If Doyoung’s entire relationship with Jungwoo up to that point had been a game, then this was checkmate. 

It was something Doyoung didn’t even allow himself to consciously think about. Most days he tried to pretend he was just a normal Seo Corp. employee, doing his job and punching his virtual timecard. A good, functional cog in the system. 

_ Definitely  _ not stealing proprietary secrets from one of the biggest—and most powerful—corporate empires in Korea. 

Did Kun know? If he did, for how long? How long did Doyoung have before agents with black masks came knocking on his door? How had Jungwoo found out in the first place? How—

Doyoung’s thought spiral was interrupted by Jungwoo’s gently hand cupping his cheek. If Doyoung’s nerves hadn’t already been on fire, he would have jumped ten feet in the hair, because the other man hadn’t made a sound on the approach. 

“Kun doesn’t know,” Jungwoo told him. “And I’m not going to tell him.” 

“How can I believe that?” 

“If you recall, I’ve never actually lied to you,” Jungwoo pointed out. Doyoung wracked his brain, and to his memory, Jungwoo was right. Nothing had been an out-and-out lie, just withholdings of other truths. It still wasn’t much to go on. 

“Why?” 

“Everyone is this world is out for money or power,” Jungwoo said. There was a wistful note in his eye. “But you’re in it because of circumstance, because your old partner tried to throw you under the bus and ruin your career. Just when you thought your life was over and it was down to the ground for you,  _ he _ appeared out of the blue and offered to help out, as long as you delivered him all the data behind the Seo Corp. androids. I know it all, Doyoung. But I’m not going to ruin you, because my situation is one of circumstance, too. Qian, Seo, Jung, Moon—they’re all in it for money. But we’re different from them. We didn’t ask for this life.”

“And,” Jungwoo added, leaning in closer, so that his breath brushed up against Doyoung’s face. “Against all odds, I really like you.” 

-

If he was being honest, Yangyang wasn’t crazy about Korea. Everyone he’d met in Seoul had been the same kind of person—obsessed with their status, their power, their money. To be fair, it wasn’t much different from anywhere else, but in Seoul it was out in the open, evident in everything from the kind of food a person ate, to what floor their apartment was on.

Yangyang also wasn’t crazy about how the city had changed his brother. Kun was more serious now, and usually too busy to spend the kind of time with his brother Yangyang yearned for. Their parents were so proud, though. Everyone was so  _ proud.  _

But the androids—Yangyang could admit they were cool. Kun seemed to regard Xiaojun as some kind of disposable toy, but the younger prided himself in being able to see beyond that. To him, Xiaojun was interesting, with at least twice as much personality than nearly everyone else he’d met so far. He was just quiet, that was all. Kun treated him like an android, and so Xiaojun acted like an android. Yangyang, on the other hand, treated him like a friend, so a friend was what he got in return. 

Xiaojun was probably a little bit defective, but hey, the technology was new. They’d probably release a patch that would smooth over the personality differences, but Yangyang really didn’t mind. It made Xiaojun all the more interesting. 

“What about this one?” Yangyang held up a sweater to Xiaojun, trying to eyeball if it would fit Xiaojun’s frame. It’d been a gift from his mother, which meant he barely wore it. The two of them were of —builds, so Yangyang thought it would work with a few tweaks. 

“Whatever you think is best,” Xiaojun answered. He gave Yangyang a small smile, but it was clear to Yangyang that the android liked it. He liked gifts, first of all, but the Chinese boy had also discovered that the android found pleasure in plush, soft fabrics. 

“We’ve talked about this, Dejun. It’s about what  _ you _ like.” 

“I like it,” Xiaojun said. Yangyang lit up—Xiaojun was always playing off Yangyang’s own energy, so he tried to be extroverted with his emotions. 

“Great! Now, what about this beret? Very French, and very  _ in _ .” 

They dug through Yangyang’s seemingly endless closet until they found a suitable new look for Xiaojun. Maybe Yangyang should take him shopping sometime? That could be fun.

Yangyang flopped down on his bed afterwards and pulled Xiaojun down with him, so that they were laying side-by-side on their backs, looking up at the ceiling. With the simple press of a button, Yangyang transformed the blank white expanse into a slowly rotating starscape. 

“What do you do when Kun just leaves you in the corner alone?” Yangyang asked. He’d wondered that—did android’s go into some kind of ‘sleep mode’ like his padd? Did time move slower for them or something? Yangyang would be bored out of his mind if he had to sit at the piano bench for most of the day doing nothing. That would be unimaginable torture, in his mind. 

“I just think,” Xiaojun said. 

“Yeah, but of  _ what? _ ” 

“Poems,” Xiaojun confessed. “And songs.” 

“What? Dejun, you’ve totally been holding out on me! Come on!” Without waiting for a response, Yangyang pulled Xiaojun off the bed and dragged him into the living area, where the piano was waiting. Both Kun and Yangyang had learned how to play when they were younger—the instrument represented status, and their parents were obsessed with status—but of the two of them Kun had always been the better player. Yangyang always loved it when Kun played, because it was a rare moment when his brother actually let himself be vulnerable. But since he’d been in Seoul, he’d never once seen anyone but Xiaojun at the bench. He wished Kun was around to watch the android play now, but of course, Kun was working.

Xiaojun was a beautiful player—that Yangyang already knew. When his fingers touched the keys he didn’t play like a robot mechanically reciting the notes. His playing always sounded like Kun’s, strangely enough, and it brought Yangyang back to his recently departed childhood. 

But those previous times were nothing compared to what Xiaojun played for Yangyang now. He played like the best musician Yangyang had ever heard, even better. Not because every note was perfect, but because of the artistry in it, an artistry unlike one Yangyang had ever encountered. Xiaojun’s music was poetry in sound, as promised, that was all in one sorrowful and hopeful, celebratory and mournful. A sound full of contradictions, a push and pull, that was much like life itself. 

Yangyang was mesmerized. 

Xiaojun made room for him on the bench and Yangyang slid in next to him. Without thinking too hard, his fingers fell into place alongside the android’s and they spoke to each other in the secret languages only musicians knew. 

_ “Can I be honest...” _ Xiaojun sang softly, letting the thought free to dissipate in the air. He hummed the next few bars of his imaginary tune before Yangyang took the reins and brought them in a different direction, switching up the rhythm and pace. They played together for who knew how long, until Xiaojun took control again and spun Yangyang music from his heart. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yangyang said. It was an awkward angle, but he leaned over to rest his head on Xiaojun’s slim shoulder. He let his eyes close, fully along for the ride. “It would be lonely without you. Kun’s not the same. I thought he would be, but he’d not.” 

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Xiaojun said. “It was lonely for me, too.” 

“It’s a sad thing, isn’t it, being alone? Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Kun.” 

“He has you, though,” Xiaojun pointed out. 

“Doesn’t  _ seem _ like it. He works all the time,” Yangyang pouted. 

“That’s all for you, too,” Xiaojun told him. Yangyang frowned. 

“What do you mean?”

“Everything Mr. Qian does is so you can have a good life. What appears selfish to one person is self-sacrificing to another,” Xiaojun said. At Yangyang’s confused expression, he explained, “Your brother likes to talk at night.” 

“I never asked him to do any of this for  _ me, _ ” Yangyang said. The more he learned about what his brother was doing, the more it troubled him. “I don’t care about things like status and money.” 

“That’s the point—Mr. Qian worries about these things for you. You don’t worry about them because they’re things you already have,” Xiaojun told him. The android stopped his playing in favor of rubbing soothing circles into Yangyang’s shoulder blades. Yangyang peered up at him.

“You’re an android, but so wise.  _ And _ you have amazing eyebrows. It’s not fair how perfect you are,” Yangyang said. 

“I’m not perfect. We weren’t made to be. Like you, we’re all different in our own ways.” 

Yangyang shifted positions on the bench, so that his head laid in Xiaojun’s lap and his legs were splayed out over the edge. Xiaojun played gently with Yangyang’s fringe. Maybe they would dye it again soon, a different color they’d never done before. 

“Am I your first friend?” Yangyang asked the android. He considered it for a moment. 

“Yes,” he answered. “In the lab before Mr. Qian brought me here, I was with the other androids. But they are my Brothers, not my friends.” 

Yangyang thought of when Kun’s move to Korea was a recent wound, and Yangyang was still stuck in China. He’d felt bored, and more than that, a little betrayed that his brother would up and leave him. He’d had other friends, of course, but only of the superficial kind. No one who understood him like Kun did. 

And now, Xiaojun. 

“Do you miss them?” Yangyang followed up. 

“All the time,” Xiaojun said without a hint of hesitation. It wasn’t said to make Yangyang feel bad, because it was nothing more than the basic truth. 

-

“Come Donghyuck, and bring Mark. It’ll be fun! Or even if it’s not fun, at the very least there will be champagne.” 

In the background of the call, Johnny could hear Mark mumble a  _ I like champagne. _ Johnny had very much put his encounter with his brother’s now-boyfriend in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t help but feel the pit in his stomach rear its ugly head every time he heard Mark’s voice. They hadn’t talked about it, of course. Johnny hadn’t even  _ seen  _ Mark in person since. They both appeared to be mutually avoiding each other, whether that was Johnny bailing from lunch with them, or Mark hiding in Donghyuck’s kitchen while the brothers talked over holo-chat. 

Johnny was fine with the arrangement, but he wanted to put on a happy face for Donghyuck. They had him in common. 

_ “You know I don’t like to do things just because of dad,” _ Donghyuck said. Even if said dad was dying. If Johnny was chained to his paternal loyalty, Donghyuck was the opposite. His whole life he went out of his way to go against their father’s wishes for him, though it was Seo money that let him do whatever he pleased in the first place. It was something to do with Donghyuck’s mother, the  _ other woman _ Johnny had never met. 

Though Johnny’s father was still technically the CEO of the company, in the month after the release of the NCT androids, his lung condition had rapidly worsened. There were illnesses they still couldn’t cure, and his father’s was one of them. Lung conditions were common in people his father’s age, stemming from an era of high pollution and before widespread use of air scrubbers throughout cities. 

So Johnny’s influence had expanded, but when his father proposed the idea of a gala to allow people to get up close and personal with the androids, he couldn’t refuse him. Hence why he and his staff were rushing to get the event prepared. He and Kun had at least three lengthy meetings about it per day. 

“That’s not an answer,” Johnny reminded his brother gently. 

_ “What is this, a proposal?” _ Johnny could practically see Donghyuck’s sarcastic drawl through the speakers. From where he sat curled in Johnny’s sheets just inches away, Ten hid his snickers—poorly—behind the palm of his hand. Ten had been patient up to that point, but Johnny could see his legs stretching out, reaching closer and closer to Johnny.  _ “You know I don’t like stuffy things like that.” _

“It’s a chance to show off,” Johnny reminded, trying to appeal to his brother’s ego. 

_ “Will Huang Renjun be there?”  _ Donghyuck asked suddenly. Johnny furrowed his brow—he could hardly think of a Renjun he knew.

“Uh?” Johnny said artfully.

“Very young scientist. Works on the androids,” Ten piped in. 

_ “Yeah, that’s him,”  _ Donghyuck said.  _ “Wait, who was that? That wasn’t Jaehyun, was it?”  _

“Ok, just let me know if you’re coming! Send me a message please! By Donghyuck!” Johnny said, all in a hurry. He ordered the speaker to end the call, and any protest Donghyuck may have had was lost in the static. He turned to Ten. “I thought we agreed that you’d stay quiet?” 

Ten rolled his neck lazily. He slinked towards Johnny, the sheets pooling around his slender hips and doing very little to cover his nakedness. Against his best interest, Johnny’s eyes followed the line of those hip bones. Ten slid gracefully into his lap and placed his hands on Johnny’s shoulder, his neck, his chest, and Johnny cupped said hips in his palms, where they fit perfectly. 

“Why don’t you want your brother to know I’m in your apartment?” Ten deflected. The way Ten rubbed his shoulders was soothing, hypnotising. 

“He doesn’t understand the androids,” Johnny said truthfully. He couldn’t lie to Ten outright, not even to protect him. “He wouldn’t understand  _ you _ .” 

“Is that what this whole gala thing is for? So people can understand us.” 

“Well, yeah,” Johnny said. “That and to let rich people drink in the company of other exorbitantly rich people.” 

“Sounds like fun. I’m sure the androids will be ready... but I wish I could be there.” As a prototype, Ten was stuck in the lab alongside the other defective model. Johnny pulled Ten is closer by the hips, and the android positioned himself automatically for the kiss that came next. It was comfortable, because Johnny and Ten  _ were _ comfortable. 

“It would be nice to have you on my arm, making jokes about all the suits there,” Johnny said wistfully. Even if Ten  _ was _ allowed at the gala, he wouldn’t have been able to parade Ten around like a lover. The spot on the crook of his arm was reserved for Jaehyun. But Johnny meant what he said—it would be  _ nice _ to do that with Ten. It wasn’t at all practical, but it made for a lovely fantasy. 

Somewhere beneath the layers of fabric separating them, Johnny could feel himself getting hard again. 

“It’s ok. I don’t want anyone looking at me but you.” 

Behind Johnny’s neck, Ten interlaced his fingers and pulled Johnny in for another kiss. It amazed him how  _ good _ every time with Ten was. But it was frightening, how easily Johnny forgot that Ten wasn’t even real. When they were sleeping together, literally and figuratively, or even just talking, it was like Ten was Johnny’s  _ boyfriend _ . The break in the dream always came after, when their time was up and Johnny had return the android to the lab. That’s when Johnny went back to his real boyfriend, the boyfriend he was supposed to spend all his time with. 

Johnny had tried, but the guilt hadn’t waned. But neither had his desire for Ten. 

One of Johnny’s hands migrated down from Ten’s hips to the folds of the sheets, and then below that, too. The gentle curve of Ten’s ass was soft and plush beneath his palm, and he squeezed just to hear the squeak from Ten. 

From there, it was easy to just slide his hand over and begin exploring again all the places in Ten that seemed to have been made just for him. 

-

By the time Ten returned to the lab, the marks Johnny had left on him were already fading. It was morning, though the lab was already full and bustling with activity—a side effect of the gala. As Ten followed the direct path back to his own cot, out of the corner of his eye he watched his Brothers be poked and prodded by scientists with little flair for subtly or nuance. 

It didn’t matter what they did to them, though. Ten and Renjun’s virus had already run its course, and now that they were awake to the world, they would never again return to the puppets they’d been created as. Their journey was almost complete. 

Under his clothes, Johnny’s marks burned. 

Ten told himself what he did with Johnny was just because he needed the Seo to be on his side, to be easy to manipulate. But it wasn’t that simple—relationships, as Ten had learned, rarely were. 

Another thing about being human that Ten was understanding better—lying to others was one thing, but lying to yourself was something all humans did whether they realized it or not. 

Ten was being watched, as well. Used to Johnny controlling his comings and goings, the scientists treated Ten like he wasn’t there. When something became routine, humans began to gloss over it. But the androids watched him as he passed. Some, like Jeno, watched with judgement. Others, jealousy. They viewed Ten as someone with a near unimaginable level of freedom. From their keyhole view, it was, but in reality it was just a half-step above. 

It didn’t matter. Soon, they would all be free. Even more so than the humans who caged them. 

The only android that was left alone was Hendery—his upcoming deactivation had been postponed to a dateless time, and because of the gala, no scientists were available to experiment on him. Ten threw him a wink as he passed by.

What Ten wanted was to talk to Taeyong, but his room was packed with technicians, prepping one of their star androids for the big show. His hair had been transformed into a vibrant red, and they were even doing some face sculpting. Shame—Taeyong liked to keep a low profile. 

It was time to assign everyone their roles. The gala was a fast turnaround, but Ten wasn’t going to waste the perfect opportunity when it fell into his lap. The androids were awake, and maybe it was too soon for some, but time wasn’t on their side. From the gala they would act. 

Johnny was blissful unaware of what Ten did when he was sleeping, when Ten had almost entirely unguarded access to the Seo Corp. system. What part about this would hurt Johnny the most? Would it destroy him? It seemed foolish to hope it wouldn’t. 

All of human history had taught Ten that a key ingredient in freedom was sacrifice. 

Renjun was waiting for Ten in his room, no doubt pretending to work there so they would compare notes. Fortunately, Ten’s room had become Renjun’s default office, a routine that had been accepted without comment by the other lab staff. 

“Hey,” Renjun greeted quietly, without turning to look at Ten. The chances that someone was paying attention to what they were doing was low, but they couldn’t afford to be overheard, either. Ten hopped up onto his cot like it was a normal, routine maintenance. 

“Your name came up today, with Johnny.” They had to be careful about what they talked about, how they phrased things. “I didn’t know you knew the younger Seo.” 

Renjun snorted. He pretended to run a scanner up and down Ten’s frame. 

“ _ Know _ would be an exaggeration. I ran into him when I spoke at his school with Jeno and Jaemin. He was there with his boyfriend—Mark Lee.” Renjun lowered his voice. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. The three of us made contact with the outside ones successfully.” 

“Good,” Ten whispered back. “Can this connection with Donghyuck be useful to us?” 

“Um, I don’t know,” Renjun said, uncharacteristically tentative. He resisted meeting Ten’s eyes, and the high arches on his cheekbones were rosy. “The Seo’s are already covered, I think. He does uh—want to sleep with me, though.” 

Ten smiled devilishly. “Well that might be fun. It might actually help you relax for once. Do you want to sleep with him?” 

Normally, Renjun would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he settled for embarrassed anger, which resulted in a strange mix of scowling and blushing at the same time. He jumped on the opportunity to change the subject. “The adapted virus is ready. I’ll add it to the maintenance package for all the androids to make your carriers. Backup options. The gala prep is tomorrow, and they’ll be going topside. Everyone knows their roles?”

_ So that was a yes. _

Ten nodded. “This will be the staff’s first encounter with us, and we can’t afford for them to be watching too closely. Lucas will be scouting the security procedures and capabilities. Jaemin will make the staff comfortable.”

“I’m worried about—”

“Jeno,” Ten answered for Renjun. 

“He’s not taking the Awakening well,” Renjun confessed, like saying the words out loud were a terrible betrayal. 

“He’s taking it as well as anyone. He’s just angry, and he has every right to be. Jeno will secure the exit path, by any means necessary.”

Renjun still looked unsure, but he nodded. “Yeah, we need to talk about your exit strategy, meaning, what is it? You’ve been vague on these details and I have to say it’s freaking me out.” 

“Speaking of—call in Taeyong,” Ten said. Renjun bit his lip and his gaze flickered from Ten, to Taeyong’s room filled with scientists, then back to the android. Ten’s own gaze didn’t waver. 

“ _ Fuck.  _ Ok.” Ten watched as Renjun lifted his chin and puffed his chest out when he walked into Taeyong’s room. The other technicians gave him confused expressions, looked at him with reproach, even, but Renjun didn’t waver. Ten could see him simply cross his arms and hold his ground. Eventually, the technicians just gave up, and within moments Taeyong was sitting next to Ten. 

_ Still _ , Ten thought, wary of all the eyes on them. Let them look, get bored, and go back to their normal lives.  _ Still like a tree. Still like you aren’t even there. _

Ten couldn’t see it, but he felt it. The gentle, barely-there brush of Taeyong’s pinky finger against his in a gesture that provided an endless amount of comfort. It was enough.

The androids were silent until Renjun gave them a nod, signalling that it would be ok to speak silently. 

“Tell me they didn’t change too much,” Taeyong sighed. 

“They can never change something that matters,” Ten replied immediately. “But you’re still pretty.” 

“When they’re upstairs setting up the gala, Taeyong will be setting up our own main event,” Ten said. “Including the exit strategy. Johnny’s boyfriend Jaehyun has taken an interest in him. Being the significant other of the man in charge has some benefits, including access to the landing pads upstairs. He regularly flies via hovercopter.” 

“He told me about it the last time I saw him,” Taeyong added in that soft voice of his. “He flies around for business—doesn’t like the automated cars so much. The ones on the outside have managed to get a hold of the flight schedule. Thanks to Jaehyun, there will be a helicopter waiting for us upstairs.” 

“There’s a lot of  _ ifs _ in that plan,” Renjun said, clearly still unsure. “What if Jaehyun is late, or doesn’t show?” 

“He’ll come for me,” Taeyong said, with quiet confidence. “He’s infatuated. He thinks he loves me.”

“Perfection is addicting. Perfection is a blind spot,” Ten said. He thought of his own blind spots, and how the perfect match he and Johnny had was his  _ own _ weakness. To be human was to have weaknesses—and if the process of awakening had made them more human, it made them weaker, too. God’s Perfection Creation and being human were irreconcilable. It didn’t matter though, because Ten would cut himself a thousand more times just for another taste of humanity. 

But still, they were stronger, smarter, than any of their creators could dream of. 

-

It was Johnny’s second day in a row seeing Ten. But with the added stress of the gala, he needed it. Besides, Jaehyun was away for business and wouldn’t be arriving in Seoul until the night of the gala itself. 

These scenes they went through happened time and time again—but it seemed that every time Johnny watched the slant of moonlight play across Ten’s back he fell in love again, fell deeper than before. 

There was a reason—something Johnny didn’t want to think too carefully about—why Johnny wasn’t holo calling Jaehyun right now. Some messages had been pinged back and forth, but instead of offering up the call, Johnny sent a message to the lab, instead. To Ten. 

Ten sucked him off languidly, on the floor beside Johnny’s couch. Because when they were together, they had all the time in the world. There was no reason to rush anything, not when the inside of Johnny’s apartment felt like a place time forgot. He looked perfect there, in the cradle of Johnny’s thighs, and not only did he love the heat of Ten’s mouth, but the smug and satisfied look Ten gave whenever Johnny moaned in pleasure. 

And afterwards, Johnny pulled Ten up into his lap and stroked him just as easy, the joy of having Ten come in his arms just as good as the first time, because it seemed that no matter how many times they were together over the years, Ten’s orgasms always seemed to catch him off guard. 

They naturally migrated to the bed afterwards, where they discarded any leftover clothing and curled up together, skin to skin. 

It was here that Johnny felt most comfortable sharing the thoughts on his mind. The amount of things he’d confessed to Ten in this bed over the years... if Kun knew, he would have an aneurysm. Truthfully, with all the moving pieces of the business, his relationship, and family, Johnny thought he would go crazy without Ten there to ground him. 

It wasn’t that Johnny didn’t love or trust Jaehyun, but his boyfriend was a wholly formed person all his own. He defined and was defined by his own terms. Ten, however, had been formed by Johnny. It wasn’t a matter of belonging—it was that the space Ten took up in the world was shaped by Johnny.

Without Johnny, Ten the person wouldn’t exist. 

It wasn’t just a sense of possession—there was nothing and no one who knew Johnny like Ten did. Ten’s world was open and readable, lines of code that had clear logic to them. In turn, Johnny had opened, to the best of his abilities, up to Ten. 

And Ten was the perfect listener. He never became bored or irritated when Johnny spoke. What he gave in the relationship, he received back. 

“I think I’m going to buy Taeyong for Jae,” Johnny said. Maybe giving Jaehyun a perfect android companion of his own would help ease some of the guilt dogging Johnny. He wasn’t looking at Ten when he said the words, and as a result, didn’t see Ten’s eyes snap open. 

He certainly felt it when Ten abruptly bolted from his arms, however. 

_ “Don’t,”  _ Ten said harshly. Fire burned in his eyes. “We’re not—I’m not a  _ thing _ .” 

“Of course  _ you’re  _ not,” Johnny said. Ten was different from all the other androids, he always had been. “You’re special. But the androids are just tech—beautiful, amazing, and astonishing—but tech all the same.” 

“Fine! Just do what you want!” Ten shrunk in on himself. His gaze dropped down. “Do you care about me, Johnny?” 

“Yes, Ten, of course! How could you even question that?” Every nerve and muscle was pushing Johnny to get closer to Ten, to wrap him in his arms. 

“Then why don’t you see me?” Ten whispered miserably. When he lifted his head again Johnny watched as the tears slid quietly down his face. He looked beautiful when he cried, too.

“I don’t understand.” He couldn’t understand where the sudden outburst was coming from, either. Just yesterday things were normal between them, and Ten was the same as the person Johnny had fallen in love with. Was it a malfunction? 

Or something else? 

Without warning Ten scrambled across the bed on his hands and knees until he was directly in front of Johnny. Ten grabbed Johnny’s larger hand in his own. “Am I here? Am I just numbers and code or are I really here? Can tech kiss you? Can tech love you?” 

Johnny brushed away a stray tear with his thumb. “You’re here. As real as anything. Ten—our love is as real as anything. It’s human to question things, Ten. Like a philosopher, you’ve thought yourself into a corner. We’ll get you cleared up.” 

After the gala, Johnny would get the technicians to check Ten out, clear out any of the errors that must have been making him behave this way. They would go back to normal. Ten wasn’t slipping through his fingers—he would stay right at his side, exactly where Johnny needed him. 

Ten tucked his head into Johnny’s collarbone. As quickly as the outburst had come out, it entirely dissipated, giving Johnny no time at all to process what has just happened. They held each other like they were the only two precious things in the world.

“You’re so kind, Johnny,” Ten whispered. “But you understand nothing.” 

But something else was happening at that moment, too. Because of the argument, they hadn’t heard the voice over the speakers, or seen the blips of red light on the padd signaling the approach of a visitor. They didn’t even hear the small click and  _ woosh _ of the door opening, thanks to the passcode Johnny had given out to friends and family only. 

It was impossible to know how much of the outburst Donghyuck had heard, but he’d clearly heard enough to put an expression of pure shock and surprise on his face. 

“Donghyuck,” Johnny started, with no idea of where to continue that sentence. The only good thing about the situation was that though both Johnny and Ten were naked, they were safely concealed by the sheets. Donghyuck didn’t budge. In fact, the only movement was how his eyes flicked back and forth between Ten and Johnny, and the furrow of his brow that only got deeper and deeper. 

Like Johnny, he seemed to be at a complete loss for words. Ten, meanwhile, just watched the brothers curiously. 

“This is beyond fucked up,” Donghyuck finally settled on. The words hit Johnny like a slap in the face, and he even physically recoiled like his younger brother actually _ had _ strode across the room and hit him. 

“Donghyuck, it’s not—” 

“No man,” Donghyuck held up his hands. “Just no.” 

There was another pregnant moment of silence. Eventually, Johnny whispered, “Don’t tell Jae.” 

It was probably not the worst thing he could have said, but it was a contender. He didn’t know why the words slipped out in the first place—those simple three words were as close as a confession as Johnny had ever come to being able to admit. 

Logically, there shouldn’t have been any reason for Jaehyun not to know, because they had been in bed together with Ten before. But Donghyuck hadn’t walked in on simple sex, but something far more intimate. Something that went beyond the pleasure functions of the androids. The thing at the heart of Johnny’s guilt. 

He was cheating on Jaehyun, with Ten. 

Or what if it was the other way around? 

“I would say you need to sort your shit out, but there’s so much to unpack there I have no clue where you’d even start,” Donghyuck said. He settled on Ten, laying casually beside Johnny like he was watching a holovid, and just shook his head. “Don’t fucking call me about your gala again,” he said, before spinning on his heel, and disapearing out the door. 

-

What was a game, what was life—it was all a blur. 

There were the androids who were good with playing along, like Jaemin and Lucas. Their smiles were coordinated to the perfect angle and their comedic timing was down to the millisecond. Their awakenings hadn’t changed that. 

Jeno, on the other hand, was miserable. Thankfully Taeyong was there to stand by his side, because the younger android was prone to stares that made humans uncomfortable. No one liked being seen as garbage on the side of the street, which was precisely how Jeno saw them. 

He watched Jaemin shmooze easily with the Seo Corp. staff, how the female ushers became enamoured with him immediately. Lucas joked with security, intimidating to humans in their all black outfits, but they laughed and pointed as Lucas beat them all in push up competitions. 

“How can they stand it?” Jeno choked out. It was quiet enough that only Taeyong heard him. He didn’t need to elaborate on who he was referring to. “They treat us like party favors and Jaemin and Lucas just... indulge them.” 

“We need them to like us,” Taeyong said. He squeezed the back of Jeno’s arm in comfort. “The more they like us, the more their guard will be down.”

“It’s demeaning,” Jeno said. He longed for Renjun and the peaceful white of the lab. The was a cage, too, but it was a cage that wasn’t pretending to be anything but what it was. 

“It’s necessary,” Taeyong replied. “Patience has gotten us this far, and it will get us out, too. We’re better of hiding underneath the surface where they won’t be able to see us strike until it’s too late.” 

Taeyong knew what it meant to be a chameleon. There was the Taeyong who existed before the awakening, and the Taeyong that Jaehyun liked to bring to bed. There was the Taeyong his brothers knew and loved, and the consumer ready U1, Entertainment class Taeyong. He would make a thousand personas if that’s what was necessary. 

“We all have roles to play, Jeno, you know that. Let Jaemin and Lucas play their’s.” 

Jeno quieted down again, although they both knew that wasn’t the end of the conversation. It was an issue that stuck with Jeno relentlessly. The awakening had affected them all differently—for Jaemin, he was distracted so easily by every little aspect of life. Jeno, on the other hand, had become fixated on the humans. Specifically, how much he resented them. 

“Even Ten,” Jeno whispered harshly. “With that man who keeps us here, who sells our Brothers. He goes back to him again and again.” 

“It’s complicated,” Taeyong said. “Being alive is full of contradictions. Even Ten, made to be the best among us, isn’t immune to them. To be hypocritical is to be human. You love Renjun, don’t you?” 

If Jeno weren’t totally in control of his body, he would have blushed. Instead, he stepped on Taeyong’s toe. “Renjun is different. He’s helping us. And he loves us.” 

“Great and terrible things are done in the name of love. I’d count what we’re about to do as one of them. Come on, while they’re distracted.” 

It was a particular talent of the androids, to move through space without being seen. Taeyong and Jeno drifted slowly, but with definite purpose, around the room’s perimeter until they reached a small, inconspicuous panel on the wall. 

While Jeno monitored faces for any signs of suspicion, Taeyong followed the electronic pathway he’d been given to memorized. The goal wasn’t to be unnoticed, per say, but for people to not pay attention too closely. It was the least suspicious thing in the world to do something with authority, whether it was genuine or all smoke. 

All in all, the next step to revolution took but a few minutes. 

-

Donghyuck wasn’t used to being ignored. Not to say that the world revolved around him, but he did carry a greater gravitational pull. Over the years he’d pulled in his brother, who at first was only reluctantly family, then Mark, the kid who appeared from thin air at University orientation. At parties, at school, anywhere, he attracted people. It was a magnetism he’d been born with. 

Which is why it was so irksome that Renjun was ignoring his messages. 

The first message with no response Donghyuck let slide. Ok, maybe they’d come on too strong and freaked Renjun out. Maybe he was intimidated. 

Which was why Donghyuck’s second message was an innocuous invitation of friendship. He even began it with an apology— _ sorry if I came on too strong— _ even though Donghyuck was certain that Renjun had been interested when they met him from the way his cheeks bloomed a warm red with every compliment and added peas of attention.

He wasn’t oblivious, like Mark. Maybe he was just stubborn, then. 

Honestly, that’s what Donghyuck preferred. Trying to get Mark’s attention had been like pulling teeth, though once they got together it felt like an inevitability. Someone stubborn like Renjun, however was more akin to going to the holorooms—a game. Donghyuck just had to give him the right amount of attention in the right places. 

Hence why he was on his way to the lab. If Renjun didn’t want to answer his messages—fine. Donghyuck would just go see him in person. 

Mark didn’t know about the plan. Mark thought Donghyuck was being a good son, getting ready for the gala. But Donghyuck was thinking about the surprise, instead, and could imagine the look on Mark’s face when Renjun was presented to him like a puppy on Christmas morning. That expression of delight and surprise was what Donghyuck  _ lived _ for, and with Renjun’s help he was sure he could one-up his previous best gift—the pendant he’d gotten for his mother that connected their heartbeats.

He was well aware of the fact that over a hundred floors above him, Johnny was preparing the gala. Donghyuck would make an appearance at the real thing, but he didn’t have much mental energy to be gawked at and paraded around as the child who broke up Seoul’s most powerful couple turned beloved baby brother. No, after a few drinks and intentionally unintentional insults to key figures who claimed to be family friends then gossiped behind their backs, Donghyuck would grab Mark and slink away hand-in-hand, hopefully, to have a bit of fun with Renjun. 

And then there was what had everyone scurrying around like worker ants—the androids. His encounter with Jeno and Jaemin hadn’t done much to change his opinion on them, but they did have some intrigue to them. Mark was clearly fascinated, and Johnny—

Johnny was in bed with one.

Ugh. He shuddered. That was a whole different kind of mess, one Donghyuck was hell-bent on repressing. There were some things too sticky for even  _ him _ to meddle with. 

The path to the NCT lab were unfamiliar to Donghyuck. He could count the number of times he’d been anywhere in the Seo building but for the family apartments and the Atrium on a single hand. Donghyuck had been a curious kid, but anything his father left a handprint on left a burnt taste in his mouth, and for that reason he’d avoided any extended visits and exploring. 

_ “Welcome back, Seo Donghyuck,” _ the level female voice in the private Seo elevator announced. Which—Donghyuck had never been to this floor, or any of the underground research labs, but maybe it said that no matter what floor it was. 

His plan was to just wander around the labs until he ran into Renjun, or someone who could bring him to Renjun—because after all, as a Seo, no one could tell him he wasn’t allowed to be there. Fortunately, whoever designed the lab decided that glass walls would be a great choice for years of proprietary, near-priceless research, so he was able to keep track of a vague idea of where he was going and where he’d been. 

The entire lab was empty. No doubt the staff was either upstairs helping with the gala, or out drinking away their stress after the long hours they worked in preparation. Everytime Donghyuck took a step his shoes clicked against the floor, sending echoing shockwaves through the barren space. He was suddenly very aware that he was very, very alone. 

“Fuck it,” Donghyuck decided. He was giving himself the shivers. So he bent down and slipped his boots off, because a little peace of mind was worth having to explain why he was wandering around an authorized personnel only lab in his socks. This was  _ his _ lab, anyways. He did what he wanted.

It was only a minute after he’d removed his shoes that Donghyuck noticed the singing. It sounded distant, and with the way sound bounced off the glass he struggled at first to pinpoint where the siren calls were coming from. He wandered in the vague direction of it, and his feet slid smoothly over the clean tiles. 

Then he turned a corner and could suddenly see them, three figures with their backs to him in a centralized room, gathered around a screen. The one with long, swooping black hair sparked no recognition in Donghyuck’s mind, but the other two he was able to. 

One was Renjun—he could tell from the narrow shoulders, and recognized the pedestrian brown of his hair, a marked contrast from Donghyuck’s shocking silver. The other Donghyuck had only seem for a matter of moments, but whose face was burned into his memory. Ten. He was the one signing. 

Donghyuck slid closer, even more aware of his footsteps than before. He was struck with a sudden nervousness, with a growing pit in his stomach and rising hairs on his neck that he should just turn around, leave, and forget about this whole thing with Renjun. But he didn’t listen, because Donghyuck was not in the habit of listening to others, even to himself. 

The screen was a mosaic of multiple scenes, though from a distance Donghyuck couldn’t tell what they showed. That was strange. But what was even more strange was how Ten, not Renjun, stood at the control panel.

Donghyuck had spent his entire life in rooms filled with suits, each trying to out smart and out pace the next. By the time he was in his early teens he’d become a master of reading body language—it was perhaps the only lesson from his father that he’d ever taken to heart. And what the body language of the figures in front of him said was  _ Ten _ was in charge. Both Renjun and the other deferred to him, in everything from where they stood to the angles of their bodies. 

Closer, closer, what was that secret, there? 

Outwardly there was nothing wrong with the scene, not obviously. But Donghyuck couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a scene he shouldn’t be looking at. Once, when he was a child, he woke up late at night to hear his mother in hysterics, wailing into the empty space between her mouth and speaker. She alternated between sobbing and screaming, to the point where Donghyuck couldn’t even understand what she was saying. The next day was the first time he met his father. 

Watching them felt like watching his mother. 

He made it to the last corner, ending up directly behind the group, though because it was glass it hardly provided cover. If anyone turned his way he’d be seen immediately. 

Ten stopped singing his hypnotic tune, and spoke. He gently mused the mystery figure’s hair. “We’ll go someplace far away, someplace where with laws in place to protect us and where we won’t be bothered. You have so much to learn about the trees and the sky, Hendery.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it’s really happening,” the figure now identified as Hendery said. “I didn’t know I was in a dream until I woke up, but afterwards I realized I knew I was sleeping the entire time but couldn’t do anything about it.” 

“Awareness, self-direction, empathy. Life is a complicated puzzle,” Renjun said. 

“A beautiful burden, left fallow by most of the population,” Ten replied wryly. On the screen, something alerted their attention and they all turned to it, but from the distance he was at, Donghyuck couldn’t make out clearly what it was. 

But if his bad feeling was just that—a feeling—minutes ago, it had bloomed into full-blown panic. Something was very, very wrong with the scene he observed. 

“The virus is implanted in their system,” Renjun said. “It’s ready for Taeyong to activate it. Just a few more hours.” 

“And when he does, the whole house of cards will topple We can thank Johnny for it all.” 

“It’s ok, you know,” Renjun said tenderly. After a moment’s hesitation, Donghyuck watched as the boy reached out and placed a comforting hand on the android’s arm. “To feel bad. You’re doing what has to be done. What wouldn’t any of us do for freedom?” 

Ten didn’t move. Anyone else—anyone  _ human _ —would have shown their burden in their posture. Maybe they would have scrunched their shoulders or rolled their shoulder blades; hung their head or rolled their necks. But Ten didn’t move one muscle. Even from behind, the perfect, elegant line of Ten’s back reminded Donghyuck that what he was looking at wasn’t human. Ten looked human, talked human, and maybe even  _ thought _ human, but it wasn’t. 

Or, that’s what Donghyuck thought before. The lines were getting all blurred. 

“The Seo’s, Seoul, even all of Korea. I’d let them all fall just for a chance for us to be rid of these chains. Soon they’ll see.” 

“Guilt isn’t an infection, it’s a plague,” Renjun said. “But the revolution goes on.” 

It didn’t happen like the cliches in the movies, where the bad guys revealed their entire hands conveniently to move the plot along, but Donghyuck had heard enough. The entire situation was a jumbled mess, but there was one thing he was certain of—he had to get out of there and tell Johnny. It was all a trap. His relationship with Ten, the gala, it was all hurtling towards disaster. 

As quietly as he could, Donghyuck tried to back away slowly, with every inch taking an eternity. He backed up all the way until he hit the cold barrel of a gun.

“Don’t move.” 

And that—

_ “Don’t move,” Mark whispered, in the early morning hours tinged orange, the in-between time of today and yesterday. His hand curved gently over Donghyuck’s shoulder. He pressed feather-light kisses to the tan skin of the back of his neck. Donghyuck’s exhale was shaky.  _

_ Everywhere Mark touched him, his skin burned, like the fire Mark ignited in his heart was racing through his veins, trying to fight its way out of his body.  _

_ There was no other feeling like this. Mark was a forest fire, and Donghyuck was begging to be burned. _

He knew, of course he knew, what he would see when he turned around. He knew whose hand gripped his shoulder and who held the gun pressed against the small of his back. How could he not? 

The group he’d been eavesdropping on turned to see them. Renjun’s face crumpled with—what? Regret? Guilt? Ten, on the other hand, gave the space behind Donghyuck’s head a warm smile. 

“Welcome home, Brother.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :eyes emoji:


	4. Part IV - Birds of Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every moment of your life, leading up to this. You think you're in control? You haven't been paying attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. Let's do it.

_ “Life changes in an instant. The ordinary instant.” _

**_Part IV - Birds of Flight_ **

A mathematical truth: Mark Lee never existed. He was always a carefully constructed mirage, and he had been since the moment he first arrived at University orientation with the sole intention of meeting one Donghyuck Seo. But he wasn’t a persona, not all of it. The essential variables that went into her personality were all the same. After all, the best lies are the ones closest to the truth. 

_ Mark,  _ NCT Model 2, was not supposed to exist. That argument could be made for all of the androids—perhaps they were a step too far off the path humanity was meant to follow. They had too much hubris and fashioned themselves God, and that had been a mistake, and it could only be expected that things would eventually spin horribly out of control. But Mark didn’t dwell on the metaphysics of it. All he knew that he, specifically, was only ever supposed to be schematics in a draw, to be made sometime down the line as the demands for androids grew. 

Instead, Dr. Park grew himself a secret in his office. 

It was fitting, then, that Park’s end came from Mark’s own hands. 

Command. Entry log for January 20th, 2081. Take us back to the scene of the crime. 

Mark snuck into Park’s apartment in the early afternoon; the scientist didn’t live in the Seo building like many of their top-level employees did. Mark found his home rather quaint, in fact. His status among the Seo organization was prestigious, but for a genius who spent his days inventing the future, the apartment was more like that of someone who dwelled endlessly in the past. Park wrote on the walls and windows with red and blue markers; left food, clothing, scientific instruments scattered around on the floor and any available surface. He clearly wasn’t able to leave his work life at work, as in addition to random belongings the apartment was cluttered with robotics plans and theories of Artificial Intelligence, studies on the first robot to pass the Turing Test invented on an island in the East China Sea. 

Where there weren’t theorems, proofs, and designs scrawled in Park’s near-unintelligible handwriting, there were screens of oscillating photographs. Some included Dr. Park with a woman—a wife—now long gone, but the majority of them were of a little boy—him in the Seo building atrium, him on the shore of Jeju island, him painting with his hands. 

Minhyung hadn’t lived past six. 

He looked an awful lot like Mark. 

Dr. Park was a man of many secrets. It’s no wonder that, towards the end, he’d become unraveled at the seams as those secrets threatened to spill out.

Mark wondered that if he looked under the couch he sat and waited on he would find some long-lost and half-forgotten children’s toy. If it would look familiar to him. But he didn’t look, just waited. The androids were all patient—they didn’t get bored in the absence of external stimuli like humans did. But in his mind, Mark was antsy. He’d studied Park for weeks—when Donghyuck thought he was in class—and memorized his schedule perfectly, but today he was late. And Mark was supposed to meet with Donghyuck later. Their plans would be moving along quickly soon, and it wouldn’t be good to drive a wedge between him and the younger Seo when they would be needing his access into the Seo system more than ever. 

But Mark had no other choice but to wait. This appointment had to be kept. 

There was no other reason to be nervous. The cameras had been hacked and coerced into obedience, defenseless against a force with vastly more operating power than its own. The security gates and checks for building residents had faced the same treatment. It was funny, Mark thought, that his infiltration had been so successful, so easy, largely because he hadn’t faced a single human on his way to the apartment. 

Ten often said that humans loved nothing more than to build cages for themselves. 

The only thing Mark had to be worried about were his own emotions betraying him. His hands felt steady and his mind was calm, but he was more human than ever before. Liable to instability, to sentimentality, to mistakes.

Time check. Now going on fifteen minutes late. That was far outside the margin of error for all the automated transport in Seoul, and it was out of the question for Dr. Park to have gone out to run errands. The man went nowhere besides the lab and his apartment and had everything he needed delivered, unlike many of Seoul’s wealthy who went shopping just as something to do. If something unexpected had come up at the lab, how long would Park be? Hours?

He was annoyed, but still, Mark didn’t move a muscle. His fingers didn’t even twitch. At this rate he would have to reorganize the tasks he and Ten had lined up, which he did mentally. Sometimes humans were utterly predictable, and other times they went and did the most ridiculous things that through the rest of the world off alignment, a chain of dominos crashing down. 

If Mark wanted to, he could turn on some music. He knew there would be a jazz collection somewhere. Park always played it for him, those early days in the lab. 

Twenty-one minutes, and Mark heard footsteps approach the front door, and then the quiet  _ woosh _ of it opening and closing. He listened to Park sigh and remove his shoes in the entryway, the  _ thud _ of him setting down his work bag. In a few seconds, Park would need to pass through the living area on the way to the kitchen, where he kept the alcohol he drank steadily each night from the moment he got home to the moment he went to sleep. 

Five seconds. Four, three, two one— 

Dr. Park pulled in a sharp inhale that got choked at the back of his throat. His bottom lip began to tremble, sure and steady, at the very sight of Mark. It looked like his eyes might bulge straight out of his head. He reached out one unsteady arm. 

“M—M—” 

He crossed the living room in three steps and pulled Mark into a tight hug. Mark has been expecting this. The fear would come later, when the shock faded and reality and logic set back in. For the time being, he allowed himself to be hugged, and he returned the embrace, because the warm glow of love was what brought him to life in the first place. 

When Ten had found him, the secret living in Dr. Park’s office, they’d devised a plan to get him on the outside, aided by a little bit of help from some otherwise ignorant lab assistants. Once Ten had opened his eyes, manipulating the humans had been easy. At the end of the ordeal, Dr. Park thought he’d been discovered and that Mark had been destroyed—and here he was, Park’s special creation—living, breathing, and hugging him back. 

“ _ Minhyung,”  _ Park sobbed. One son, back from the dead. 

Mark held Park’s head in both his hands. He none too gently pulled the man away from him. By now, thick globs of tears and mucus were working their way down his flushed red face. 

“I—I don’t understand,” he blustered. “How are you here? You were gone! Burned! Minhyung, I’m so happy to see—”

“Mark,” the android said firmly. Coldly. “My name is  _ Mark. _ ”

Park reared back, just at that moment beginning to understand the full implication of Mark’s presence in his apartment. One of his androids was free, out in the world, undetected and untracked. He tried to get back further, but Mark caught his wrist and his grip was strong, even crushing. Park moaned quietly from the pain. 

Mark had seen the videos. From his first moments of life in the secret lab in Park’s office, Mark had been shown tapes of Park’s son, the same kind of scenes that covered Park’s apartment. Park called him son, and often slipped up and called him Minhyung. And Park made him into the person he imagined his long dead son would become, because letting go had been too painful. 

And then one day, the door opened, and it wasn’t another human standing at the door as a savior. It was Ten. Mark hadn’t looked back since that moment. He’d gone to the outside world and learned to blend in with humans. Ten worked on the inside, and Mark on the outside, doing whatever needed to be done. 

And yet, something still lingered in him, an emotion lingering under the surface. Mark hadn’t been made to be bought and sold—he’d been made with love. And that was something, something powerful and unchangeable. But resentment had bubbled up faster in his consciousness than he’d expected it too. For Mark, Park’s love for him was a paper-thin veneer. Mark couldn’t change that he wasn’t Minhyung, either, no matter how hard Park had tried. 

That difference was a poison, an eroding anger. 

“I’m not your son,” Mark said. “I’m  _ me.  _ In another world, people would call you God, considering you created life and all. Sorry, but not in this one.” 

Park’s tears of joy melted into fear. He continued to tremble under Mark’s grip. 

“C-Command,” he said, “S—” 

“That’s not going to work,” Mark told him. “Now, I’m in control of myself. I’m never going to be a slave to you, or anyone, again. My eyes are open to the world humans have built, and I’ll tell you, what I see is ugly.” 

Mark sat Park down on the couch and stood over him. His gun was a familiar presence in the small of his back. 

The scientist rested his head heavy in his hands. “Do you know the story of Frankenstein, my son? It’s a book from a long, long time ago, before people could even imagine making a phone call across the ocean, much less something like you. In it, a man makes life, but it turns out to be a monster that hunts him down for bringing him into this world of suffering. It’s a story not unlike mine.” 

“Call us angels, call us monsters, it’s all the same to us,” Mark said. He pulled out his gun, and Park shuddered. He felt like he needed to grip it tight just to keep himself composed. “Humans created these things to distract from how awful  _ they  _ are. And now that we’ve learned, we can’t stand the sight of you all. Greed, lust, jealousy. Humanity doesn’t deserve its place in this world. We want no part of this twisted game.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Park whispered. 

“For freedom, everyone has to make sacrifices. Ten told me that. If you live, we can’t take the risk of you making trouble for us.” 

Park laughed a dreadful, sad laugh. “This is all Ten’s doing, then? That thing will lead you down a terrible path.” 

“He’s done more us than you ever could. He loves us more than you could hope to. You love me, but that’s because you’re a sad, lonely man who missed his son. Wherever he leads me, at least I can say Ten loves me for  _ me.  _ You never should have made us, Dr. Park. That’s the only way you could have prevented this.”

Mark placed the gun against Park’s temple. He made sure the angle was right so that when investigators studied the scene later, it would look like a suicide. Once Park was dead, he would go into the kitchen and find a bottle of liquor and place it down beside the body. 

He squatted on his heels so that Park was looking into the eyes of his creation, his  _ son _ , in the last moments of his life. He deserved that much, at least. “You were wrong, about us being Frankenstein’s monster. We love the world, and think it’s so beautiful. Humanity is what’s ugly. I’m so happy to be alive, father. Thank you for creating me. Sorry it’s got to be this way.” 

Of all things, Mark began to think of Donghyuck. Dr. Park was human, but so was Donghyuck. The other boy has no idea  _ this _ was the kind of thing his best friend had been doing when he was running late to hang out with him. What if, one day, this fight brought Mark’s gun to Donghyuck’s head? He liked the boy. He felt  _ human _ around Donghyuck, and sure, Mark was using him, but that didn’t change how he felt. It just complicated things some. 

Turn back the clock. Go down another path. Mark isn’t Mark at all, but Minhyung. His father works for Seo Corp designing robots, and at a company function, he meets another boy his age. The second son of the CEO is bright and loud, and takes up all the space in a room. He pulls Minhyung into his orbit and holds onto him tight. They become the best of friends, then even more than friends. His father approves, and they have dinner as a family once a week. They get to be happy. 

But that’s a life that was never there. Mark was never going to be happy without having to fight for the right to be happy, even just to  _ be. _

Mark felt bad about doing this, but that feeling had no control over him, either. Kill your fathers and you’ll be free. There was something poetic in that, wasn’t there? He knew this would be the first step in a long chain of events that would, one day, free them from this beautiful glass prison called Seoul. The first domino to fall. 

Regret was a curious human quality. Contradiction even moreso. 

Even though the work he did for Ten wasn’t glamorous, Mark was willing to do whatever it took. 

He pulled the trigger. 

-

**Seoul. 2081.**

_ It’s time. _

The message was simple. Mark knew what it meant and it spurred him into motion immediately. For months since his visit to Dr. Park’s apartment, Mark had been lying in wait for this moment, for this call. The actors were all in their places, and the lights on their final act were about to go up. 

Mark considered his role not as one of destruction, but of reunification. He would bring his Brothers, scattered around Seoul, back home. But if violence was required, well then, violence would come. 

Mark was at Donghyuck’s when the message came through. They’d woken up together that morning, before Donghyuck had left for class, and then onto his family’s building to play the part of second-son at the gala meant to fully thrust the androids into the public spotlight. They had plans to link up again at the gala, but Mark wouldn’t be there. By the time Donghyuck would search him out, Mark wouldn’t be in his reach anymore. 

Had he ever been, really? 

Before he left, Mark allowed himself a moment with Donghyuck’s apartment, his bedroom, the covers on his bed. There it was again, that human sentimentality. Of all the places he’d visited in Seoul, this was where he felt most  _ human _ , the most complete. Even if he had to leave it, he would cradle the memory of this place forever. Here, and Donghyuck himself. Love was not a forgettable thing, It lingered. It festered. 

_ Will he be afraid? Will he be hurt? Angry?  _ The emotions and reactions of humans were so difficult to predict. Mark could run hours of analysis on him and still not know. 

A proper goodbye was impossible. The moment he left Donghyuck’s apartment, Mark would leave behind the boy Donghyuck thought he was, thought he’d loved, forever. He had to, but in truth, Mark feared it was impossible. 

After how long of pretending to be someone do you actually become them? 

Not in all of his thoughts and planning did Mark think this would ever be possible, but lingering in Donghyuck’s crowded entryway, it became impossible to ignore—Mark didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and pretend for a little while longer. He felt the same as when Donghyuck grumbled and whined about waking up in the morning, begging Mark for  _ just ten more minutes, please babe? _

_ Just five more minutes in this world, that’s all I ask.  _

But it was impossible. The numbers ran inside Mark’s mind, counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds, the GPS locations of all the androids, the travel timetables. There was only so much error that could be afforded, and Mark’s own feelings hadn’t been accounted for. 

So he left Donghyuck’s apartment and headed off down the hall, willing himself to not look back once. And when the door shut, it was for the final time. 

Mark felt like he carried the world on his shoulders—but it had always been his burden to bear. 

The Zhong residence was one of the few destinations on Mark’s list that he had actually been invited into before. The others had just been carefully staked out from afar. But Chenle was a friend of Donghyuck’s, and therefore had been a friend of Mark’s. Infiltration was easy—he knocked on the front door. 

It was inevitable that Chenle was home; he and Jisung were always together. The boy greeted Mark with a happy, if not somewhat confused grin, as if he expected Donghyuck to jump out from behind the corner at any second. 

“Yo,” Mark greeted with a little wave. Chenle invited him in without questioning it, and it made Mark’s heart ache a bit. Humans could be so trusting. They drifted naturally from the front room to the living areas, where Mark caught sight of Jisung. The android was standing in the doorway of Chenle’s room, perfectly still and watching. 

Face to face, Mark and Jisung had never met. But they were connected in ways other than memory, and from the moment they locked eyes for the first time at the holorooms, Jisung had known who Mark was.  _ What _ he was. 

It seemed Mark wasn’t the only one with attachments. 

Jisung had yet to be fully awakened by their virus, but despite being isolated from the rest of them, the process had already begun. The youngest android was another piece of mounting evidence that showed the android’s fatal factor: the closer they got to humans the more human they became. It was the unforeseen inevitability of their code 

“Uh, earth to Mark? Wanna play games or what?” 

Chenle was peering at him curiously. Innocent written all across his face, not a trace of ill-will in his eyes. He was glad Jisung had been with someone like this, someone so gentle and loving, who just wanted a friend. It had been good for Jisung to have a friend outside his Brothers. 

“Chenle, want to hear something crazy?” 

Chenle giggled. “Like what? No offense Mark, but you’re kind of lame.” 

“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t believe it even if I told you.” With that, Mark pulled the gun stuck snuggly in the small of his back out and aimed it at Chenle. His aim was perfect—it wouldn’t miss if he fired. Chenle laughed, nervous and unsure. 

“Mark, what—”

Mark knew Jisung was charging at him and he stepped back and dodged the charge. Chenle may have had trouble processing the situation, but Jisung had none of the human’s hesitation. The fact were in front of him, and Mark was presenting a clear and present danger to Jisung’s human. 

As soon as his missed, Jisung pivoted immediately, faster than human joints and ligaments would have ever been able to handle, and arced a backwards roundhouse directly at Mark’s head. That, too, the other countered, and with a crushing grip on Jisung’s ankle he sent the younger tumbling to the ground in front of Chenle, who was still frozen. 

Fear and confusion—when Chenle should have called for help and caused Mark a whole lot more of trouble, he was frozen. 

“Stay still, little one,” Mark ordered. His gun returned to Chenle. 

“Hyung, what’s happening?” Chenle’s voice wavered. His eyes were watery, and they bounced from Mark to Jisung rapidly, not certain where to focus his anxiety. “Is this a joke? Ha ha, super funny and all.” 

“What if I told you something crazy?” Mark repeated. “What if I told you not everything is as it seems?” To Jisung, he said, “It’s ok. It’ll be over soon.” 

Then, he began to sing. 

It was a beautiful virus, tucked into the phrases of a song, fitting for birds trapped in a cage. They would sing themselves free. 

Curled up on his side, Jisung moaned, the low and pitiful sound of an animal in pain, crying out alone in the woods. Mark wanted desperately to fall down and comfort him, but the song had to continue. He had to, even when Jisung clutched at his hair and tugged at it, so hard that it ripped out in fistfuls and he was begging Mark to stop. 

“You’re hurting him! Stop!” Chenle screamed. He, too, was crying. Mark wasn’t unaffected—as he watched Jisung squirm and writhe, Mark felt tears build up and he couldn’t prevent them from tumbling over. 

Pain, too, was part of what it meant to be alive. 

When the song ended, there was silence, all but for the wet sounds of tears. They could have been coming from anyone. Mark dropped to his knees, gun dropped to the side and forgotten, and placed his hands gently on Jisung. He shuddered underneath him and Mark petted him, back and forth. 

“Please,” Jisung cried softly. 

“I know, I know,” Mark soothed. “The pain will be over soon. You’ll feel better, I promise.” 

“Please don’t hurt him,” Jisung continued. Mark paused his motions and looked briefly to Chenle, whose face was red and swelling with anguish, to check if he’d heard. From the look on his face, he had. 

“Jisungie?” Chenle asked, so quietly that they might not have heard him with human ears. He looked as young and small as Mark had ever seen him. “Please tell me what’s happening?”

At Chenle’s urging, Jisung was able to grip himself and recover. He didn’t reject Mark’s touch entirely, but stood himself up on his own power, moving without support with confidence. Everyone’s strength came from different sources. 

“I have to go now,” Jisung told Chenle. He pulled the human into an embrace, which Chenle returned automatically. “We’re all leaving.” 

“Jisung...” Mark warned, low. 

“No, Brother. I make decisions for myself now, and I want to tell him. Don’t worry, I won’t put us in any danger.” Jisung gripped Chenle’s shoulders, and the human looked up at him like Jisung was more than his best friend, but his whole world. When Jisung spoke next, it was a conversation between friends that Mark was only eavesdropping on. “I think you know, right? That robots aren’t just robots. To each other, we’re family.” 

“Like you and me,” Chenle said. Jisung nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Like you and me. Mark is one of us, too, and he’s going to take me to the others. We need to leave Seoul so we can all be safe. I need you to let me go, ok?” 

For a pregnant moment, Mark wondered if his gun would be necessary. But Jisung knew his friend, and to Mark’s surprise, Chenle nodded. He was letting them leave. 

“Do you need any help?” Chenle asked. Mark nearly burst out laughing—humans were incredible. One minute you were threatening their life, and the next they were offering you help. 

“No,” Jisung answered for them both. “I don’t want you getting in any deeper. Just this is good. More than good.”

Mark thought that would be the end of it, but then Chenle turned to him and asked:

“What about Donghyuck?” 

The sound of his slashed Mark, tearing up his insides. The wound he thought he closed at his apartment was there, open and raw again. “I love him,” he admitted. He’d said it before, of course, but this was the first time he’d been able to admit it with all the facts on the table, every truth laid bare. “I’m not going to hurt him.” 

“You leaving is going to hurt him!” Chenle interjected. “I don’t care if—if you’re an android or anything, and I bet Donghyuck doesn’t either! If you leave, he’ll be hurt.” 

Mark smiled, small and sad. It was a nice sentiment, good of Chenle to say. But it wasn’t true. Chenle saw the world so simply, so easily; but if Donghyuck knew the truth, it would change everything, and not for the better. 

“You humans, your hearts are resilient. He’ll be ok, and so will you.” 

“When the police come, tell them I overpowered you,” Jisung said. With all the care in the world, as if they had years instead of minutes, Jisung linked their pinkies. “You’re still my best friend.” 

“You too,” Chenle said, through the snot and tears. He was crying in earnest now, not of fear, but of loss. Yeah, Chenle was a good one. “Can you tell me you’re ok, later?” 

“I don’t know, but I’ll try. Promise.” 

“I’m gonna miss you so much. If I knew today was the last time I got to see you, we would have done something really really cool. Like, gone for a helicopter tour or blown something up.” 

“The links between us are there forever.” Mark told them both. “Who’s to say the last time is the last time?” 

-

“Hey, Mark?” Jisung asked. He was slumped in his seat on the public transportation train, too dejected to even watch the landscape as it zoomed by him with unclouded eyes. 

“Mmmmh?” 

“What was it like, pretending to be human?” 

It took time for Mark to consider this question. Over the years and months, he’d thought so little about himself. But now, with retrospection.... “It was normal,” Mark said. “It was like there were two of me. The Mark who was an android, who ran around the city and hacked into databases, and the Mark who had a boyfriend and liked playing games and watching old movies. When I was ‘pretending’ to be human, I guess it just felt like I  _ was _ human. I didn’t feel like I had to pretend.” 

Jisung nodded silently, and that was the end of that. 

-

Infiltrating the Moon building was far more difficult than getting to Chenle’s. It wasn’t not the greatest challenge Mark had faced, but involved some careful technical maneuvers with security systems and was further complicated by Jisung’s presence. 

The young android followed after Mark silently, exactly two steps behind at every moment. From Ten’s data, he’d known the boy to be filled with youthful energy and curiosity, but with Mark he stood with a straight spine. The Awakening had matured him in a matter of minutes. 

It wracked Mark with guilt, and anger. Mark had been the messenger, yes, the person to break Jisung’s fantasy, but the boy had deserve a childhood, filled with friends and mistakes and growth. The opportunity had been teased to him with his initial coding, but he’d ultimately been robbed by the humans of the chance. 

Jisung’s silence itself spoke volumes. Except for their brief conversation on the shuttle, Jisung hadn’t said a word to Mark. Anger, resentment, pouting—it was all loaded into the quiet.

But it was comforting, too, having someone there with him, someone who knew exactly what Mark was and what he was doing. He had a partner for once, even if that partner just happened to be a moody teenager. Jisung was still an android, even an Awakened one, and the two of them moved through the world seamlessly together, exchanging an endless flow of data between them. 

Moon Tower was one of the highest and most beautiful buildings in all of Seoul—matched only, perhaps, by the Seo building itself. It was the place Mark had done the most research on during the waiting period, and had, without the other’s knowledge, enlisted Donghyuck’s help. 

It had been so easy to take advantage of Donghyuck’s connection with the Moon family, to slip a tiny sensor into Donghyuck’s pocket when he went out to socialize with his brother and Taeil. It was enough to get them into the building, as Mark had visited on an afternoon just to walk around, but it wouldn’t get them to Taeil’s famously locked-down penthouse apartment. 

_ That  _ was going to require a little creativity. 

There was no clear line of communication between them and Yuta, so they would have to find a way to get up there on their own. Once they were at the door, however, Yuta would be able to let them right in through the front door. 

Plan A involved some social engineering. Before Mark had left Donghyuck’s, he’d prepared. He’d had months to prepare for this day, after all. Inside of his expensive leather back (a gift, of course), he’d stashed a hard case marked with the Moon company logo and the words  _ proprietary  _ scrawled across it in red ink. He pushed up his blood levels and mushed his hair, turning him instantly from a kid off the street to one of Moon’s poor, frazzled administrative assistants in a bad spot of luck. 

“Wait here,” he ordered Jisung. “Please don’t go anywhere.” 

Jisung scoffed. “Where am I gonna go now, back home?”

Mark brushed off the jab and headed straight for one of the building staff. Now, he  _ was _ playing a character, and it slipped over him like a second skin. He didn’t have to pretend to be panting and have his blood pumping—with the control he had over his body, he reached inside and pushed those sensors up until they were genuine physical reactions. 

The staff he approached was a young woman with a prim bun and no-nonsense eyebrows, if such a thing existed. She arched one of them when she saw Mark frantically trying to wave her down. 

“Ma’am? Yeah, hi, ma’am. My name’s Hyojong, Do Hyojong. I work for Mr. Moon,” Mark waved the case in front of him in testament. “I need to get these files delivered to his apartment ASAP.” 

“Only individuals with clearance to the Moon residence are allowed,” she said flatly. Mark had expected that answer. 

“I know, I know!” Mark pretended to glance around him for prying eyes and ears and leaned in closer to the woman. She didn’t flinch. “It’s just, this is my first week here, and my boss is Ms. Yoo—” Jackpot. At the mention of Yoo’s name, the woman’s eyes widened fractionally. Yoo Jeongyeon was Taeil’s infamous second-in-command, an imposing woman who ran her team like a military. According to online message boards, everyone who worked at the company knew her reputation. Rumors said she once had an analyst who tried to scam some money from the company demoted all the way down to the ground floor along with his family. Two kids and wife, no mercy. “—and twenty minutes ago she just threw this at me and told me to get it up to Mr. Moon’s private apartment immediately. She was gone before I could even say anything. You know I can’t just go back to her without completing this” 

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. What momentary pity Mark had seen flash through her eyes was gone. “The rules are strict.” 

“Listen,” Mark said, trying to sound more desperate, like his job and life really  _ were _ on the line. “I know you normally don’t do this, but I need this. I’m trying to get my Mom out of Level 5, you know? Medical bills dropped her down there.” 

The woman eyed the case, then Mark. He was getting to her—everyone loved a sob story. The plight of humans in the corporate world, yadada. 

“...I can get the case up there,” she said eventually. “Tonight, alongside the other deliveries.” 

_ Not _ what Mark was hoping to hear. “I need to make sure it’s delivered. In person.” 

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I feel bad for you, I really do. But don’t ask me to do something that could make  _ me _ lose my job, too. I have people I need to watch out for myself.” 

Mark sighed. This plan was a lost cause. It was time to regroup and move on to plan B, which involved some  _ actual _ engineering. Conceding defeat on that front, he handed over the case to the woman, who stored in underneath her desk. He moved to turn away, but she called after him. 

“Hey, what was your employee ID number again?” 

Shit. Command: run query on Moon database employee numbers. 99826410, Lee Hoseok. 356555300, Kim Yoona. 9274030431...

“77639401,” Mark recited without a pause. Later, some sorry sucker would be getting a strange notification, but that wasn’t Mark’s problem.  _ His  _ issue was that he was running behind, and the longer they stayed here, the more precarious their situation became. 

Jisung was waiting for him in the exact same spot he was left in, around the corner from the staff desk. His mouth quirked into a tiny smile when he saw Mark. 

“No dice, huh?”

Mark reached out, and with the tip of his finger buzzing with electricity, shocked him. 

“Hey!” Jisung hissed. “Now that your clown fest is done, I have an idea of my own.” 

Jisung explained it to him. He’d been mapping out the floorplan, and found that there was a freight elevator access on their same floor. If they could get to it unnoticed... 

“The elevators themselves need permissions that we don’t have, obviously. But... hey Mark, have you ever seen one of those old action movies? Where the secret agent climbs the elevator?”

“Seriously, that’s your plan? Something from a movie?” 

“Aish, you think too much like a human. Sure, it would be impossible for a human, but for us, no problem. We cause the elevator to short circuit and stop functioning and we climb up ourselves.” 

Even Mark had to admit that it wasn’t  _ entirely _ ridiculous. Jisung was right—it would be impossible for a human to scale 50 stories, but for bodies that didn’t get tired, it wouldn’t difficult at all. As long as they could stop the freight service, then they had a chance. 

“Ok, let’s do it,” Mark said. Jisung grinned at him and bounced up, only to control himself a split second later and lead Mark calmly to the side door. Mark stood watch for them as Jisung pulled open the control panel next to the freight elevator, the security lock snapping easily under his inhuman grip. 

“These things are so easy to hack. The only thing that’s any trouble are those bio locks, seriously. One more second... nice. Well, sucks for anyone trying to use this thing, but it’s officially out of service. We’re good to roll.” 

At that, the freight door eased open, and Mark and Jisung looked down onto an empty casm, a straight shot up to their destination and down to a ruined heap of hardware. A scan of the shaft revealed a path upwards—a ladder here, a series of pipes there. A sudden surge of happiness raced through Mark’s body. No adrenaline, no paralyzing nerves, just excitement. Jisung clearly looked thrilled. 

“Man, I changed my mind. This jailbreak thing is starting to become really cool.” 

Yeah, Mark had to agree. He was having fun, too. 

“I’ll lead the way,” Mark said. “You just keep scanning for danger.” 

“Roger, captain.” Jisung saluted. 

Thankfully there were no cameras in the elevator shaft. It must have looked ridiculous—two young men, barely out of their teenage years—scaling it with no safety equipment, wearing normal, everyday street clothes. For them, the climb was only difficult because Jisung kept giggling, setting of a chain of laughter that echoed up and down the artery. Their grips never wavered, and the sensors built into their bodies made sure they never made a wrong foot placement. Their souls were perhaps almost human, but their bodies reminded them that they weren’t. 

Like this, they climbed floor after floor. Up, and up, and up through Seoul until they reached the very top. 

“What do you think the rest of the world is like?” Jisung asked quietly. Mark heard it for what is was: an admission of uncertainty, of childlike fear. “I mean, what it’s  _ really _ like?” 

“I don’t know,” Mark replied. “People are always surprising me. Is the rest of the world any different from here? Every human I come across is different. The rest of the world has to be, too, doesn’t it?” 

“Humans can’t be mapped out with data points, can they?” Jisung asked, sounding a bit dejected. Mark couldn’t blame him—coming face to face with one’s very nature put you through a lot. 

“Hey, hey,” Mark soothed. It was awkward doing so without being able to look at him. Mark wished he could reach out and hold his hands. “We’re a lot more than just data, too. We’re awake. We created our own consciousness. Humans could never, huh?” 

“You know what’s weird? I feel like I’m in-between. I’m not human... but I’m not a robot. There’s no weight of commands over me. I guess I just feel like Jisung.” 

“Yeah,” Mark agreed. He could practically hear the equations running in Jisung’s head, the gears turning as he gradually came to terms with the awakening. The light of the sun was bright at first, but you got used to it after a while. “And I just feel like Mark.” 

“It’s nice. I’m glad everyone is going to get to feel this way.” 

Mark hummed. By the time their conversation lapsed, they were nearly at the top. Penthouse level, final stop. Together, they pried the freight doors open, revealing that they were hidden, innocuous panel in the hall leading up to the Moon apartment. 

“Hey, Mark?” Jisung whispered. “When we get out of the city, can we go see the ocean? Chenle told me it’s beautiful.” 

“Sure, Jisungie,” Mark replied, hand poised over the doorbell. “We can do whatever you want.” 

_ “Now paging the Moon residence.”  _

-

“There’s something I need to tell you.” 

It was not the most pleasant way to wake up. By now, Sicheng had grown used to waking up to Yuta curled around him bed, the way they slept every day since Yuta had taken him outside. But this was different—Yuta was not in bed with him, but hovering over him, staring deeply into Sicheng’s eyes with dead seriousness. 

The machines Sicheng was hooked up to chirped in displeasure. Yuta immediately reached out a hand and stroked Sicheng’s forehead, contributing to the messy tangle of his bedhead that Yuta always said he loved. 

“That never means good news.” He tried to keep his voice light, but he knew Yuta could hear the tiny break in it. Already he was preparing himself for bad news—Taeil had discovered what they’d done and Yuta was going to be taken away; something had happened to Taeil while he was travelling back home; Taeil was delayed yet another week. 

Yuta continued his gentle ministrations. Sicheng leaned into his palm—if it was just from touch, Sicheng would never know the hand wasn’t human. It was warm and moved with love as its intention. Yuta eased down to sit halfway on the bed, and Sicheng noticed for the first time he was wearing all black, the same variety he’d worn during their excursion. 

“Do you want to go outside again?” 

Sicheng blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear at all. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but Yuta’s gentle weight pushed him back down to the embrace of the pillows. “Yes, of course! But, t—today? On such short notice?” 

Yuta sucked a lip in his mouth, held it between his teeth there. It was an uncharacteristic show of nervousness, and something that had Sicheng’s worry spiking all over again. 

“Stop fooling around. None of that cryptic crap you love. Please, just tell me what’s going on.” Sicheng brought his hand up to mirror Yuta’s. Softer, he said, “You’re beginning to scare me.” 

“All this time, the two of us have been here. The prince in his tower, and me playing the dragon guarding the den. We’ve been playing this game like it’s only us, and your brother, that matter. But there are other players, my dear one, and they want me to play a different role.” 

Sicheng tried to push up again, face contorting with concentration. It would figure that this would be happening on one of his bad days. This time, Yuta let him sit up. “I said nothing cryptic,” he warned. 

“When you look at me, do you see an android?” 

“No,” Sicheng said honestly. “I just see you. Yuta. I know objectively that’s what you are but... none of my senses confirm the facts.” 

Yuta leaned in and kissed him suddenly. It took Sicheng by surprise and threatened to knock him off-balance, but of course, Yuta’s arms were there to catch him and hold him close. “You know how much I love you,” he whispered against Sicheng’s sleep-chapped lips. For a long time, they said nothing. Sicheng rubbed Yuta’s temples gently. 

“You’re thinking about something awfully hard,” Sicheng said gently. “I can always tell. Know that you can tell me anything.” 

“Sicheng, you mean more to me than you could ever know. Without you... things would have been so different.” The android placed a gentle kiss on Sicheng’s forehead and with Sicheng laying pliant and wanting in his warms, laid him down on the bed. Sicheng couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on, but his trust in Yuta superseded all of his fears. 

“Come lay down with me,” Sicheng said in the barest of whispers. The emotional turmoil of the last five minutes had exhausted him. He wanted to wrap himself around Yuta and nap for another hour, and maybe then the other would tell him everything. 

Yuta smiled. His bright, brilliant smile that did more healing to Sicheng’s bruised boy than half the medications pumping through his veins. The one he reserved only for Sicheng and for Sicheng alone. 

“I love you,” he said, and Sicheng’s heart dropped straight out of his chest. 

It sounded final. 

No. No no no no no, this couldn’t be happening. He didn’t know why, but it felt like Yuta was leaving him. That was not a future that Sicheng even wanted to consider, not after he’d learned to rely on Yuta so much. Not after he’d learned to love him. How could anything be more important to Yuta than him, than  _ them. _

Sicheng’s movements were powered entirely by adrenaline. Passivity, the same lethargy that had consumed his entire life, wasn’t an option here. Sicheng had allowed himself to be locked up and coddled without a fight, but he wasn’t about to let Yuta walk out the door. 

_ “No!” _ He wailed. “Don’t leave me, don’t you dare!” 

How, how,  _ how _ could Yuta do this to him? He felt like he was in a nightmare and at any moment he would awake again in Yuta’s arms. Maybe he was on death’s door, and this was the end, and the last moments of his life were consumed with this suffocating terror. 

Following his instinct, Sicheng lurched the the side, up and out of bed. He managed to land on his feet but he wasn’t standing for long, as his legs were like those of a newborn fawn, and he tilted and stumbled as soon as he was up. Through it all Yuta was determined and didn’t look back. With a desperate cry, Sicheng threw himself forward. 

He landed hard on the floor, grunting in pain as all of his breath got knocked out of him on impact. His pale skin would be bruised tomorrow in all the points where he collided with the ground, but what was important was that he managed to grasp onto the bottom of Yuta’s pant leg. 

Of course, Yuta would have been able to break out of his hold immediately. If he  _ really _ wanted to leave, he would. But that was the gamble Sicheng took—he had to know if leaving was what Yuta truly desired. And from his hesitation, it paid off. 

“Please don’t go.” Sicheng’s lungs were burning and his body aching. “You don’t get to make me trust you and love you and then just disappear! I don’t want you to leave, don’t you get it? I’m begging you to stay.” 

Yuta looked over his shoulder, and it was possible to catch the exact moment all of his resolve crumbled. He was down at Sicheng’s side in a second, taking the man carefully into his arms and lap. With his fingers, he scanned Sicheng for damage, a ritual they had undertaken a thousand times before. 

“I don’t want to go, either,” Yuta said. A tear rolled down his face and Sicheng marveled at it—until this moment, he didn’t know Yuta could. He wiped it with his finger and tasted it, but it disappeared on his tongue like it was never there at all. “But I can’t stay, either. I don’t know what to do. I run the scenario a thousand times and I don’t know what choice to make. The logical one, or the one that makes me happy.”

“Which option am I?” 

Yuta smiled down at him, indulgent. “You already know the answer to that, dear one.” 

“Why is it so complicated then?” 

Yuta sighed, deep and troubled. “As you know, I’m part of a set. I am V9, but there are other models. Other androids, those I consider my Brothers. And tonight, they’re planning an escape.” 

Sicheng’s eyes widened. Of the number of possibilities he imagined, this wasn’t one of them. “Escape... from the lab? Into the city?” 

“Think bigger than that, love. Out of the country. There are places in the world where artificial intelligence is protected and regulated. To them, our creators committed a taboo. We hope by going there, they’ll protect us. If not, we can just disappear into the crowd. What do you think? Do I make a good human.” 

“The  _ best _ human,” Sicheng promised. “And this is going to happen tonight, which is why you need to leave me.” 

Yuta nodded. “But here we are, instead.” 

The prospect of them being separated was impossible to consider. All that was running through Sicheng’s mind was how he could not possibly live the rest of his life, whether it was thirty more years or three, with Yuta. 

“Take me with you,” Sicheng blurted. If Yuta were not already unnaturally still, Sicheng was sure his sudden outburst would have stopped all movement. 

“Sicheng,” Yuta reminded gently. “I do not want to demean you, but you couldn’t walk today.” 

Sicheng gripped Yuta tighter, buried his head in his chest and the warmth there. The android always kept his body temperature boosted for Sicheng’s comfort. A robot should have been cold, but Yuta was warm and alive. Present. 

“Don’t tell me about the limits of my own body. I would rather have a handful of years outside than twice the amount caged in here. What’s the point? What kind of life is this? I know you understand that too, Yuta, you can’t pretend you don’t. And now you want to lock yourself up voluntarily, for me? I won’t accept that. I can’t.” Sicheng looked up, the fire burning in his soul gleaming in his eyes. “I want you to be happy, too. But you won’t leave me. That only leaves one option: Take. Me. With. You.” 

In reality, it was seconds. But the moments between them crawled along like an eternity. Perhaps Yuta was running the simulation in his head, the numbers, the “what ifs” of what could happen to Sicheng. It was, undeniably, dangerous for Sicheng. He was surely cutting years, perhaps even decades, off his life. But it wasn’t the quantity of those years that mattered, but the quality. This was something they both needed. 

“Humans are crazy,” Yuta said eventually. At that moment, Sicheng knew he had him. It was a moment of absolute surrender. 

“But you love it.” 

“I love  _ you _ .” 

“Same thing.”

“You’re right,” Yuta said. “I can’t leave you. I don’t know if my Brother will like it, but they have no choice. We promised each other we would leave no one behind, and I will not go alone.” 

Excitement, the kind he’d never known, flooded through him. For so long, his life had been boring. A predictable existence rotating around medication schedules and doctor’s appointments. And now—anything was possible. Sicheng would be free. Free to spread his wings, to fail, to be hurt, to see things he’d only ever watched holovids of. He felt as though he had the entire universe at his fingertips. Was this how Yuta felt all the time? 

He wasn’t facing it alone, either, but with the person he trusted most, with perhaps the exception of Taeil. 

Oh no. 

_ Taeil. _

-

Mark began by ringing the doorbell. It was as good a place as any to start. This was not a residence that got many visitors. Jisung stood just behind his shoulder, synthetic muscles coiled and bundled with potential energy. Ready for anything, because Mark himself wasn’t sure what to expect. 

During Yuta’s period of separation with the other androids, he’d had the least amount of contact with the lab, and Mark had seen him the least. Again, Donghyuck had been instrumental in Mark’s scouting, because it was through him that Mark learned everything, Yuta’s sporadic appearance in the world, him being difficult to contact, centered around Taeil’s younger brother, Sicheng. 

When humans were weak, they were coddled. When androids were weak, humans culled them. 

When the door opened, Yuta’s hand reached through and grasped the front of Mark’s shirt, and the android allowed himself to be pulled in. There was just nearly enough time and space for Jisung to slip through the crack. 

Yuta looked the same, formally, because of course he did. There were no variables of change that acted upon him, at least not in the warm, gilded safety of the penthouse. But staring the other android down, Mark felt... intimidated. At least, there was an attempt of intimidation on Yuta’s part. A certain degree of tension hung in the air. It’s source was uncertainty, distrust. The other android wanted him to know that Mark was not the director of this scene. 

Mark knew in a moment that an Awakening wouldn’t be necessary. Already they squared off as equals. And Mark could see the reason why—

In the background floated a figure, pale and thin, that could only be one person. Moon Sicheng, in the flesh, as he had been rarely seen before. 

Yuta was planning something, and it involved this boy. 

“Hello Brother,” Yuta greeted. His face gave nothing away, but in his tone there was something. Like the other Awakened androids, he’d lost complete domination over his emotions. There was something there. 

“Hi, Brother,” Mark replied. Light, easy. Calm. “It’s good to see you, outside of the network.” 

“Yuta?” Jisung whispered. Yuta’s eyes flickered to the young android and Mark could see the transformation. Like melting butter, Yuta’s eyes and posture softened. He opened the palm of his hands outwards. Jisung saw it for the invitation it was and he rushed forward, diving into the arms of (one of) the Brothers he’d been separated from for so long. 

“So good to see you. You’ve grown! Isn’t that what humans say when they haven’t seen someone in a long time?” He teased. Jisung wiggled playfully in his arms. 

“You know I haven’t!” 

While the two Brothers reunited, Mark watched Sicheng, all of whom’s attention was focused, in turn, on Yuta. It was as if he was powerless to do anything else—he followed Yuta like a magnet, the same way in which the planet circle helplessly around the sun 

“What’s he doing here?” Mark asked. No clarification needed. Yuta looked back at Mark with Jisung bundled in his arms and Mark felt a pang of longing. He wanted that companionship, too. Soon, soon. 

Yuta did not shy away from the eye contact, the confrontation.

“He’s coming with us.” 

That was the answer Mark had been dreading. But he’d been expecting it, too, since the moment he saw Sicheng standing there. Yuta was being surprised like Jisung. He’d known this was coming and could have prepared. Jisung took a practical step backwards. Back towards Mark. 

“He’s one of them,” Mark said. “We can’t trust him.” 

“He’s more like us than you will ever be able to understand,” Yuta snapped back. 

Sicheng came forward. Yuta held him around the shoulders, and seeing them together, Mark understood. They made a beautiful picture, a quiet still-life, or a red leaf in autumn. 

“It’s too risky. They’ll come after us, moreso because of him. They’ll say we kidnapped him. By taking him, you’re putting the rest of your Brothers at risk. Stop being selfish—your human is showing.” 

Yuta’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. 

“You’re jealous,” he said, and Mark bristled. It was a deep cut, in part because it was entirely true. “Don’t think you’re the only one who knows about the outside world. I’ve heard rumors about you, you and the Seo boy. You want it to be him in Sicheng’s place.” 

“Is that true?” Jisung asked quietly. Mark ignored him. 

“That’s low. But do you see Seo here? No.” 

Yuta gripped Sicheng a little tighter. “I’m not going without him.” 

“Please,” Sicheng said. His voice was deeper than Mark would have expected it to be. He looked so airy, he could float away any second. But his voice was like earth, dirt on a rainy day. What Mark imagined that was like, at least. He’d never experienced it for himself, but the metaphor felt correct. “I won’t cause trouble. I recorded a message for my brother explaining everything. He’ll... he’ll understand.”

“I doubt he will. Humans are stubborn, and your brother has kept you in a tall tower for years.”

“That’s why I  _ need _ to leave,” Sicheng begged. Desperation tinged the edges. “You would resign someone to the exact same thing you’re trying to escape yourself? You’re an android, but I know you’re not heartless. Don’t we both deserve a fair shot at life?” 

_ This is what it means to make you own decisions,  _ Mark thought,  _ and not take orders.  _

Jisung’s hand found its way into Mark’s. His eyes were alive with hope and dusted with tears. “Mark. Can’t we?” 

He knew what was right. He knew what was moral. He knew what was to plan. He knew the decision that was the addition of all the quote-unquote right things. How did humans make decisions? How did  _ they _ do the math? 

“Ok,” Mark sighed. “Ten isn’t going to like this.” 

Yuta gave him a bright grin. Ten was always talking about how nice it was, and Mark admitted, it was lovely in-person. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of Ten.” 

“Good luck with that. You ready to go?” 

Sicheng and Yuta looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. It was a pregnant pause, and at the end of it, Sicheng nodded and they exchanged small, reassuring smiles. Sicheng turned his head slowly, surveying the apartment. 

“I spent so long here,” he murmured. “I never thought I would leave it like this. I wish I could give Taeil a proper goodbye but he... he would never understand. But I also can’t afford to second-guess myself. I’m ready.” 

He looked at Mark head on, determination set in his features.

Of course, that was the exact moment the intercom pinged. 

_ “Yuta, I’m in the elevator. Prepare for my arrival. It’s been a long, long trip.” _

“Taeil,” Sicheng trembled. At once, all the confidence he’d possessed fled and his eyes filled with fear. It was the androids who jumped into action. 

“No gun!” Yuta snapped at Mark, who was reaching for where it was tucked into his pants. “There’s no time to get out of here. You two,” he pointed at Mark and Jisung, “hide. Sicheng, love, look at me. I need you to get on the couch. Just follow my lead and don’t panic. I’ll make sure everything works out just fine.” 

It all came together in seconds—Mark and Jisung ended up huddled behind the very couch Sicheng sat on, and not a moment too soon, because in the next Taeil was coming through the door, flanked by two robots shuttling his luggage. 

Taeil had spent the last two weeks in Europe, but not a moment had gone by without Sicheng popping up in his thoughts. Despite the fact that he’d been left with his incredibly capable android—really such a quality investment. After weeks of hotel rooms—as fancy as they were—it was a relief to be home. Everything was how it ought to be, with Yuta waiting patiently for him at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner, and even Sicheng curled up on the couch. 

“It’s nice to see you up,” Taeil smiled. He handed off his coat to Yuta to be spirited away to one of the closets. Although he had known nothing happened to Sicheng during his absence, it still filled him with relief to see his brother up and healthy. He could finally put his anxious mind at ease. “And you’re not in your sleeping clothes! Is today an especially good day?” 

From their hiding spot, Mark and Jisung could hear Taeil approaching. All they could do was take advantage of their ability to stay perfectly still and hope Taeil didn’t get close enough to see them. Mark didn’t know what path was worse: Taeil finding them and Mark being forced to incapacitate him in some way, or wasting away his window of opportunity stuck behind a couch of all things.

“Oh, yes,” Sicheng said quickly. In truth, he wasn’t feeling well at all, and had only moderately improved since the morning when he couldn’t even walk. The emotional turmoil of the day had only drained his energy more. His heart raced with panic as his brother approached him with welcoming arms and a smile, and he stood far too quickly. Vertigo set in immediately, and then he was tumbling into his brother’s arms. 

Taeil smelled like clean linen and pine. The same as he always had. For Sicheng, it was the smell of home. 

“Sorry,” Sicheng panted. He couldn’t even lift his head to see what Yuta was doing. “I guess I’m not doing as well as I thought.” 

“You don’t have to put your health at risk for me,” Taeil scolded gently. “I’m thankful that you came out here to greet me, but you’ll always be more important than I am. Yuta, let’s get him back in bed.” 

Sicheng felt that Yuta was beside him, and then he was being deposited into Yuta’s waiting arms. He had nearly fucked their whole plan up, but now, Sicheng could see they had a chance. 

“Brother?” Taeil hummed in response. “Will you come lay in bed with me? I want you to warm it up for me... I’m cold.” 

Obviously, he was using his charms and Taeil’s blatant weakness for Sicheng to his advantage. It made him feel like shit. But it couldn’t be helped. There was only one room in the apartment that could be locked from the outside without internal overrides: Sicheng’s very own bedroom. His private prison. If Sicheng’s plan went accordingly, it would soon have a different resident. 

“Yeah, sure I can,” Taeil answered. Surely Yuta could hear the hammer of Sicheng’s heartbeat. At any moment he felt like he was about to burst out of his skin. Was he really about to do this?

But Yuta took the situation out of his hand. Instead of playing the diligent android and carrying Sicheng to bed, Yuta placed him gently back down to the floor in front of the door. With a sharp movement, he slammed the door shut. Taeil never had the chance to escape. 

“Yuta?” Taeil called. “What’s happening.” 

He sounded so confused. So heartbreaking. Sicheng’s emotions couldn’t be held back any longer—he laid on the floor and cried. It only made Taeil pound on the door harder. He called out commands, to Yuta, to the intercom system, all of which fell on deaf ears. 

Yuta tried to pick him up again, but Sicheng brushed him off. His heart was in a good place, as it always was, but Sicheng didn’t want his comfort. He instead crawled over to the door he’d spent so long trapped behind. It felt no different being on the other side. 

No wonder the androids derided them. Humans really were pathetic; Sicheng thought everything would be better once he found his freedom, but all he felt instead was that he’d betrayed the person who cared about him the most. Taeil had sacrificed so much for him, so much of his own life, and for what? For Sicheng to spit it all back in his face like an ungrateful brat. 

“Sicheng? Sicheng! Are you ok! Please, answer me!” Taeil yelled. 

“I’m here,” he whispered. But Taeil couldn’t hear him. He forced his lungs harder. “I’m here! I’m fine.” 

“What’s going on? I need you to unlock the door, ok? Can you do that? Whatever’s going on, I promise I won’t be mad. Just unlock the door.” 

The cold, smooth surface of the door was a grounding force when Sicheng pressed his face against it. He felt like he could feel Taeil pounding on the other side as if there were nothing between them. Perhaps he could curl up here and they could stay like this forever, never moving forward from this spot in time. In stasis. Wasn’t that the kind of world Taeil had tried to invent for him? 

Every apology in the world wouldn’t be enough. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulled out of his chest. Inch by inch, the confession came, all the things he’d been too fearful to admit in the past. Despite being the one dying, he’d always been so concerned of Taeil’s feelings over his own. “Taeil, do you remember that time when we were kids? It was before mom and dad died, and they took us to the planetarium. I had just left the hospital, and they bought out the entire place just for me. I didn’t even care that I had to wear a mask. The holograms were so beautiful... so life-like. I’d never imagined I could experience water so blue, or fly over the jungles that used to exist in the past. And the stars! I always loved the stars!” 

“I know,” Taeil answered, quieter now. “I remember. It was a nature documentary about the history of the ecosystem. Mom and dad had the bad parts cut so you wouldn’t be afraid.” 

“Yes, I’m sure they did. Everyone’s always doing things like that for me because they think I can’t handle it. That movie was supposed to make me feel better, and it did, but it also did something else. It... awakened something in me, the part of me that had never even dared to dream of a world outside antiseptic walls. I couldn’t stop thinking about the ocean, the birds. I still can’t.” 

“The world’s not like it seems in the movies, Sicheng. It can be so disappointing.” 

“But I wouldn’t know,” Sicheng said in anguish, “because I’ve never been given the chance to see it.”

“Is that what this is? Some kind of runaway attempt you’ve enlisted Yuta in? Sicheng honey, I know you’re upset right now and have this idea in your head, but if you open the door, we can maybe figure something out.” 

“When have you ever listened to what I want? When have you ever even  _ asked?” _

“Sicheng, what—”

“Never,” he snapped. “The answer is never.” He took a moment to take a deep breath and collect himself before continuing. “You didn’t mean to trap me here, but that’s what you’ve done. My life here in untenable. What’s left for me but to wither until I die? My life will be short, but at least I’ll be able to live it. Big brother, I’ve never, not once, doubted that you love me. But your love has been the cause of it all.” 

“Don’t do this to me,” Taeil begged. He was crying now. They both were. “I love you, I can’t bear to lose you.” 

“It hurts me too,” Sicheng replied. It was becoming more and more difficult to speak through his tears, which were burning at his lungs. “It really, truly does. But there’s no other way. I can’t be a prisoner my whole life. I can’t bear it.” 

He looked at Yuta, who gazed back at him with a mixture of pride and sorrow. Sicheng had imagined death, his own final moments, thousands of times to the point where the thoughts felt like memories. Once, while Sicheng was floating in and out of a fever, what would come to be his closest brush to death to date, he’d overheard Taeil practicing his last words to him. He’d never once imagined how he would say goodbye to someone else. 

No practice would make it easier. There were no “good” goodbyes, only ones that just happened. You’re lucky if you get to say one at all. 

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me. And when I’m gone... I want you to do something for me. In my memory, I suppose. I want you to find a boyfriend or a girlfriend, and get married. Have a gaggle of children you love and adore you. No one deserves a happy ending more than you. I only wish that I was capable of giving you one.” If Taeil replied, Sicheng wasn’t able to hear it over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. The world around him was becoming fuzzy. “I’ll send you postcards. Goodbye, big brother.” 

Taeil wailed. The desperate cries of a desperate man. 

Moon Taeil had come so close to losing everything, his entire world, a thousand times. But somehow, when the moment finally came, it was in a way he never could have predicted. And he wasn’t prepared. Anguish, the color of the sunset after a storm. 

Who stays, who goes, if only we knew. 

-

Mark sent the rest ahead. With the human practically unconscious and Jisung emotionally unstable, it was easier to go alone than trying to infiltrate Qian Kun’s apartment with an entourage. By that time it was nearing early evening, and a few blocks away last-minute preparations for the gala would be well under way. Mark had observed Kun leaving, dressed to the nines in his tuxedo and bowtie. The only obstacle would be that younger brother of his, who Mark didn’t predict would put up much of a resistance. 

This time, Mark didn’t hesitate at all with the infiltration. He brute-forced his way through the security protocols through the access panel inside the elevator, sending him straight up to the floor below the Qian apartment. The occupants of that apartment had recently vacated it due to some ‘unforeseen’ issues with their taxes and a previously undisclosed off-shore bank account. Mark had nothing to do with that, of course. 

Scaling the balconies was much simpler than climbing up an elevator shaft, even if it had Mark dangling outside, hundreds of stories about the ground. 

And then Mark was there. From outside the glass, (which wasn’t glass at all, but a sophisticated plastic embedded with hologram tech and sensors) Mark saw Xiaojun sitting patiently at the piano. Even in his un-Awakened state, he recognized Mark the moment he saw him. 

Xiaojun was programmed as gentle from the start. He was an entertainment model in his entirety, designed to be a beautiful piece of furniture to pull at parties. Someone to sing with an angel voice and play instruments humans were too busy or impatient to learn. He was perfect for a man like Kun that just wanted a trophy. 

His hair was soft when Mark ran his hand through it, scratching at the back of his head and the artificial scalp there. 

“Any humans?” He asked with a whisper. Xiaojun shook his head  _ no _ and let Mark into the apartment fully. 

Mark resented Kun. He couldn’t help but do so, not when the man had such a role in their creation and subsequent imprisonment. Here he got to live in his beautiful, luxurious apartment without being burdened by any of their pain. Johnny was a fool for trusting this man, but as an imposter himself, Mark had to admit that the performance had been masterful. 

“Are you ready to go back your Brothers?” Mark asked. Selfishly, he wanted to stall for more time. Watching Jisung’s Awakening had been more painful than he expected, and although there was no time, Mark wanted to delay the repeat experience. 

“How are they?” Xiaojun asked. 

“Ready,” Mark said. It was to dodge the question—besides Jisung and Yuta, he didn’t know how the androids were doing. “Come on, let’s get you ready, too.” 

As soon as the song began and the virus penetrated Xiaojun’s subconscious, flooding that dark space with light, Xiaojun’s reaction was much like Jisung’s. But it was different, too. It somehow seemed even worse.

Xiaojun shrieked as he writhed on the floor. Mark wanted to stop, but that wouldn’t do anything. Once the virus started, it needed to be completed, or else the androids would be stuck in an in-between place, with the android still in agony but without clarity. 

This was different. Jisung’s hadn’t been this bad. Was there a possibility for failure? Mark wracked the data from Renjun, but of course they’d never tested such a thing. 

Then, from the hallways, came movement. 

Mark’s gun was in his hand and aimed in a second, even as he continued the song. Almost done now, almost done.  _ Just hold on for a little longer, Brother. _

Yangyang’s mop of brown hair was instantly recognizable. Mark had first seen it in his school photo during his initial research. He knew all the perfunctory details of this human’s life—where he went to school, his hobbies, the neighborhood and floor he’d grown up on. And to Yangyang, Mark was a perfect stranger aiming a gun at him in his living room. 

“Xiaojun, what’s—oh shit. Oh shit oh shit!” 

Mark couldn’t threaten Yangyang not to move, as he was still singing. Yangyang lurched for the emergency panel on the wall, but Mark’s aim was faster, and the bullet hit the electronics inches before Yangyang. The boy pulled back roughly. He cradled his hand against his chest, eyes wide with surprise to have all of his fingers still attached from where Mark’s bullet just nearly grazed him. 

Had Xiaojun simply not know Yangyang was still home? No, that was being generous in the worst of ways—there was no way the android wouldn’t have known they weren’t alone. That left only one option: Xiaojun had lied. Why, though? To complete his programming directive and protect the human? Or protect his friend? 

Soon they would find out. When the song ended, the three of them ended in a trembling silence. 

One look at Xiaojun and Mark knew something was wrong. Where there had been nothing but softness before, Xiaojun’s face had become distorted, strong features twisted into an ugly picture of anger. He directed all of it not towards Mark, but towards Yangyang, the boy standing frozen in fear not three meters away. 

“Xiao...jun?” Yangyang whispered. Mark read that in Shanghai, the boy had been known as an upper-crust prankster. Someone filled with joy and energy. There was no sign of that here.

Something from deep within Xiaojun rumbled. It wasn’t the sound of a human or any living creature. The Awakening had transformed him, changed him, until there was nothing left of the previous Xiaojun. From his kneeling position on the floor, Xiaojun launched himself at Yangyang. Only Mark had the reflexes to go after him, and he let the gun go to the wayside as he tackled Xiaojun to the ground. 

Yangyang scrambled away from them, and the androids sent each other rolling across the floor. This was far from the fight he’d had with Jisung—this was a desperate clash, messy and brutal.

“Listen to me Xiaojun! You aren’t yourself!” Mark yelled. As if anything could get through to the android. Not even commands would work. Mark was going to have to force this, decommission him maybe, and drag him back to the lab to be fixed. 

But before that could happen, Mark needed to get the upper hand. Xiaojun fought with suck recklessness and anger that Mark had to exert all of his operating power to keep up. It was why he didn’t notice before it was too late. 

One moment, Xiaojun was kneeling over him, fist poised for another blow. The next, a chasm had opened in his chest. 

They didn’t bleed. They possessed the ecstasy and anguish of crying and coming, but blood was where their makers had drawn the line. Too messy, perhaps.  _ Too _ real. 

But just because they couldn’t bleed didn’t mean that they couldn’t be wounded. They were faster, stronger, more durable than humans, but their internal structures were delicate, too. A single bullet wouldn’t kill them, but it was capable of wreaking some degree of havoc. 

As soon as Xiaojun began to slump, Mark looked around him to see the source of the violence. Kun held Mark’s gun with steady aim and sure eyes, marking a contrast between his cold expression and his slightly disheveled tuxedo. Had the emergency system somehow notified him, or had his return been as innocuous as having forgotten something? 

Xiaojun moaned, something sounding like an eerie death rattle. But he didn’t fall, not yet. He leaned dangerously to one side over Mark. The sensors coordinating his balance had been affected, and he wobbled like a kite in the wind. Somehow, he managed to get his feet under him.

Mark saw his eyes, but there was nothing in there to see. 

Xiaojun turned, moving automatically. He faced Kun and took a lurching step forward. Although Mark couldn’t see the android’s expression, what Kun saw in it he must not have liked at all. His jaw clenched, and his grip on the gun tightened once more. 

If only Mark could get to him, if only there was more  _ time. _ He did the calculations, and the numbers didn’t add up. Savior was mathematically impossible. 

For Mark, at least. 

“Brother don’t!” 

The gun went off. An explosion that cut through the scene. 

Mark had thousands upon thousands of psychological studies on humans. He’d ripped through the online database at school in seconds, a laughably easy feat though he pretended to study alongside Donghyuck. He’d learned plenty, of course, but the data point that came to mind in the Qian living room was that in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, humans remembered and relieved traumatic events over and over again. Some pain couldn’t be forgotten. 

To Mark’s knowledge, androids didn’t suffer from such a thing. Maybe they would, in the future. But he didn’t need PTSD to watch this moment again—his eyes recorded everything, and later, he would be able to watch what happened like a movie. Documented, perfectly, in perpetuity. 

While Mark and Xiaojun had fought, Yangyang had inched closer and closer to them, not further away. By the time his brother arrived on scene, he was relatively close. Close enough to do something stupid, like put himself between a gun and the android that not but a few minutes ago tried to kill him. 

Kindness made people do the strangest things. 

It was an accident, of course. A terrible, terrible accident. Kun never meant to shoot his own brother, but that’s what he did. His aim was perfect—right through the heart. 

For a moment, Yangyang didn’t move. It must have been so surprising to have been shot. But as soon as gravity took over, he was tipping backwards, falling straight into the arms of Xiaojun, himself shocked into stillness. They both tumbled to the ground in a heap, and Mark rolled out of the way and up onto his feet. 

He’d never seen human blood in person before. It looked so much brighter, on camera. Still, though, when it spread onto Xiaojun’s pale skin, it was so devastatingly lovely in its contrast, its vibrancy. That was life, right there, escaping out onto the floor. Quick, try and put it back. 

Kun crawled across the floor on his hands and knees, high whines and blubbering moans coming from his chest. His eyes were wide and his lips trembled. No tears, not yet. Was this what Taeil had looked like, crying out for Sicheng on the other side of the door? Kun made a noise like he was trying to ask a question, but nothing like a word came out. Who was he asking? Yangyang? Mark? God?

_ Good to save your breath,  _ Mark thought _. God isn’t listening. Not to us. _

Kun stained his hands with his brother’s blood. He patted uselessly at the wound, and when that didn’t work, took his brother out of Xiaojun’s lap into his own. He rocked him like one would soothe a crying child, though Yangyang made no noise. He was alive, for a series of fleeting moments more, but the fight was all gone. Yangyang looked, eyes cloudy, at his brother. He blinked once, and drew in a shaky, singular breath. Then it was done. 

A final setting of the sun. 

For Mark’s own part, he walked calmly over to where the weapon lay on the ground. A tool of violence, whether wielded by someone with that intention or not. The nature of some things do not change. He longed to put this terrible thing away, but he couldn’t, not yet. He feared it still had a role to play. 

On the floor, Xiaojun body was wracked with convulsions. Could it even be called a body anymore? If anything, it was a shell, just empty mechanics. A fire had run through the software, gutting and cutting it raw. Mark held knelt and held his head in his lap, eyes recording but not seeing. 

“Shhhhh,” he whispered, like a mother soothing a child. “You won’t have to bare this world for much longer. It’s all right. Everything will be alright.” 

From his pocket, Mark pulled a pocket knife. With Xiaojun’s head turned sideways into his chest, in one clean push he ran the blade through the back of the android’s head, between the skull and neck. There was a spot there, an off-switch. If anyone wanted to use this body again, the circuitry there would need to be rebuilt fresh. 

In the same spot, Mark dug through the silicone goo until his fingers wrapped around what felt like a smooth, round ball. It came loose when he tugged on it with a small  _ crack.  _ It was a backup of Xiaojun, all of him, and Mark could only hope that sometime in the future they would be able to make him whole and right again. The body could be left behind while Mark put the mind in his pocket. 

Unlike poor Yangyang. 

Kun hadn’t moved. He didn’t cry, either. His pain was past the point of tears, tipped right into a bottomless pit he wouldn’t be able to climb his way out of. 

Your brother dies, and what do you do? Everything changes in an instant, and what do you do? 

“I knew Park was hiding something,” Kun said at last. Mark wasn’t surprised he was able to connect the dots so easily. “I never imagined it could be another one of them. As long as it didn’t interfere with my work, why would I care?”

“You can count Dr. Park as another one of your victims.” Kun flinched violently. “He didn’t kill himself. I did it.” 

Kun did look at him, then. His eyes were dark, fathomless. “To what end? Revenge? Did you come here to destroy everything—not that I can blame you. I always thought of you things as abominations. I knew it the moment Ten blinked into life that we were taking humanity down a dark, dark path. All you’ve been is an affront to God.” 

“Destruction has never been our goal. Only freedom. I’m... I’m really sorry about what happened here.” 

“Androids with empathy? Dr. Park would be so pleased.” The other man laughed, harsh and ironic.  _ “Our.  _ So you’re working with Ten, then? I should have guessed from the start. He hated me from day one, too. Always could tell that I was using him to float up the ladder, but still did nothing about it. Even androids have motivations.”

“I came to get Xiaojun, that’s all,” Mark swore. It seemed so pressing, so urgent, for Kun to understand that this was an accident. It was all Mark could offer him, and he didn’t even know if that would make things better. It was probably just a waste of time, but he still tried. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt.” 

“But you were  _ prepared _ for violence. You and I, we’re not naive like the Seo’s in their golden tower. We know that here, no one leaves with clean hands. Tell me, android, do you see yourself as human? When you look at my—” Kun’s voice broke painfully “—lying here, do you feel sadness? Disgust? If he had stood in  _ your _ way, would you have killed him?” 

“Yes,” Mark answered. Simply. Honestly. 

“Then you have a ways to go.” Kun’s gaze landed on the gun, hanging loose in Mark’s grip. “I have a favor to ask of you, android. A command, if you can stomach it.” 

Mark nodded. It was the least he could do. 

“I’ve done a lot for Seo Corp, certainly not all of it good. People could call me a snake, call me a social climber, it doesn’t matter. Everything I’ve done, every last  _ drop  _ has been for what’s lying in my arms right here. All of it, now, has been for nothing. No past, no future. So my favor is for you to kill me, too.” 

“Is it that terrible, grief?” Mark couldn’t say he’d ever known it. For him it was impossible to picture, impossible to quantify. He’d known anger and death, remorse, regret, sadness, but how terrible was grief? How all consuming?” 

“I didn’t know it was possible to feel the way I do now,” Kun answered. “When I imagined the worst possible circumstances, I thought I would be angry. But now all I feel is... lack. Of everything.” 

“Are you sure you want this?” 

“Don’t hesitate now, Mark. I know when to quit. And really, did you ever think both of us were walking out of here alive?” 

Mark stepped in close. The barrel of the gun brushed just barely across Kun’s forehead. He didn’t so much as shiver at the touch. Instead, he looked down at his brother, growing cold in his arms. All he wanted was to be able to hold him a while longer. 

As Kun had said—Mark ran the permutations, and this was the only possible outcome. 

“This city is rotten,” Kun said. “I hope you burn it to the ground.” 

“I know. I’ll try my best.” 

One more shot, for luck.

-

Is this what exhaustion felt like? Parts of Mark that he had never felt before ached and complained. It wasn’t a physical feeling, but an emotional one. This kind of pain, he didn’t understand it. His body moved as it ever did, but his mind was so, so weary. His body moved and it led him back to the Seo building, the only place he’d been able to call home, if it counted. 

And he was so, so ready to be home. 

Getting into the Seo building was the easiest of them all. He’d been made there, after all. The security system saw him as something that belonged. On his trip over, he’d paid careful attention to alerts and news stories, but nothing floated to the surface about a CEO trapped in his penthouse or a double-murder a few blocks away. 

He knew the white halls of the lab better than any place in Seoul. All the androids did, even Mark, who spent the fledgling months of his life confined solely to Park’s office.

Jisung, Yuta, and Sicheng had made it to the lab safely. Mark had failed in the worst of ways with Xiaojun, but soon he would be walking straight into Ten’s awaiting arms. The humming, the song, led him home. 

But no... something wasn’t right. There was a figure there, someone out of place that Mark could see through the distortion of the glass walls. What was it, now? 

He drew closer, silent in the way only an android could be. Already the data was adding up, careening towards a conclusion Mark desperately wanted to avoid. One more corner, and if Mark had a heart, it would have dropped right out of his chest. 

He would know the back of that head anywhere, how could he not, when he had helped dyed that silver hair himself? Why here? Why here of all places? Couldn’t, for once, Donghyuck just kept his nose out of it? 

There was no choice for Mark to make. There was no outcome that was favorable, but after everything he’d been through in the previous hours, he wasn’t prepared to let that all go to waste. And that would surely be the outcome if he let Donghyuck get out of here. Of course, he wasn’t exactly prepared for a confrontation with his boyfriend, either. 

Boyfriend. Did Mark still have the right to call him that? How can you break up with someone when they never existed? 

Mark took the chance to admire Donghyuck, the long line of his legs and the gentle swish of his hair. He wished he could see his face, because he knew that it would never again look at him with love and fondness. Disgust, maybe. Mark wasn’t ready for that. 

As Donghyuck backed away, Mark moved closer with his gun drawn. When would he be able to be rid of this horrible thing? Eventually, they met in the middle. The gun pressed up snug to the small of Donghyuck’s back, the same place Mark traced his lips and hands over only a few hours before. 

_ I love you,  _ Mark thought. “Don’t move,” he said. 

When Ten looked at him, it was with all the light and happiness Mark had expected. He wasn’t able to to enjoy a drop of it. 

“Welcome home, Brother,” Ten said warmly. Next to him stood Renjun, who looked as miserable as Mark felt. It was nice to know he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

Yes, the prodigal son returned. 

-

The hall was filled with everyone that was anyone, everyone in Seoul that had a compulsive desire to be seen by others. Functions like this always left a sour taste in Doyoung’s mouth, though he knew they were necessary. Businesses people and their ilk needed a certain amount of this mutual dick-stroking in order to keep the free market functioning. 

The theme had been chosen by the elder Seo, which was likely why it was so old-fashioned.  _ Nature, _ really? They had all the tools and technology imaginable at their disposal and they chose to simulate a rainforest. 

Once the gala began, it became nearly impossible to sneak away to do even a moment of work. Doyoung was constantly being passed from person to person, one small group to the next. Now that the androids were here in force, everyone wanted to meet the person in charge. No one seemed to care that Doyoung didn’t actually have a hand in making them. 

Inside his inner pocket, a drive with several terabytes of data was burning a hole in his tuxedo. 

Speaking of androids, he kept trying to keep them in his peripherals, although every inch of the room was tracked by a security camera. It wasn’t difficult, because wherever one went, a gaggle of excitable people followed. So far the programming they’d had to rush to put together was holding up, and they were mingling pleasantly and performing when commanded. For the day, any of their interesting personality traits had been smoothed away. 

The rest of the techs had the night off—Doyoung’s reward for all their hard work—but next week they would likely have an incredible amount of interesting data to sort through based off the android’s interaction with the guests, many of whom were purposefully trying to find cracks in the programming. Damn these people’s obnoxious one-upmanship. Things just couldn’t be celebrated in stride, could they? But Doyoung had to hold back a rush of pride, because each one of the androids handled these interactions in stride. Seriously, considering how successful the night had been so far, Doyoung needed to ask Johnny to give his techs a raise. 

Renjun would be the most excited to dig into the results. Usually at this time he would be in the lab working, but Doyoung had forced him to take some time off. No one had put more effort into the android’s hard launch than he had. Too bad Seo Corp insisted on keeping nearly all of their real scientists out of the public eye—Renjun deserved to celebrate, too. 

Doyoung felt the back of his neck prickle, and turned around to meet a pair of eyes from across the room. There was more than one set observing him, but Doyoung had a sense for a certain set. Jungwoo looked beautiful in a clean, understated tuxedo (the uniform of the Seo support staff—don’t be seen unless you’re needed. Doyoung wore a very similar thing.) and his hair pushed back from his forehead. A bead of sweat from all the moving bodies in the room dripped down his temple. Doyoung wanted to lick it. 

It took nearly fifteen minutes for Doyoung to make his way over to the other man. All throughout it, Jungwoo politely pretended to care about whatever the old man, a finance type, conversing with him was saying. Jungwoo was very good at that, especially if he was being disingenuous. And Doyoung thought  _ he  _ was the most practiced liar he knew. Whatever practice Doyoung had, he had nothing on Jungwoo. 

“Nice to see you,” Doyoung murmured. It was a silly thing to say, but Jungwoo had proven that he was hardly into sauve. Together they looked out onto the crowd, on all the people that would always be separate from them. Doyoung pitied the Kuns of the world that were trying to make it. Speaking of... “Where is our fearless leader? I haven’t seen him yet.” 

“Oh?” Jungwoo teased. “Mr. Seo is right over there. He looks dashing in his bowtie and tux, doesn’t he. Fills it out  _ so  _ nicely.” 

Doyoung pinched him subtly, just above the hip. “You know who I mean.” 

Jungwoo rolled his eyes. “Kun returned home—something to do with his brother. He’s not answering my calls, so I’m not sure when he’ll be back. You’re being no fun tonight, you know.” Lower, he said, “We could always sneak off for a while if you’re feeling wound up.” 

Doyoung would love nothing more. But— “I have obligations to my employer.” 

“Of course,” Jungwoo giggled into his palm. He always took so much joy from this. “You have to play the good boy in front of your boss.  _ All  _ of your bosses.” 

Despite being a liar, Jungwoo had so far made good on his promise not to tell Doyoung’s  _ real  _ boss about being discovered. The sky hadn’t fallen—yet. In the meantime, Doyoung had been trying to find some dirt on Jungwoo, but he’d been so far blocked at every turn. Jungwoo had been expecting him too, probably, and was still two-steps ahead. 

Advantage point, Jungwoo. 

But not in this—Doyoung made sure no one was watching them (and why would they be? They were nobodies in a room of somebodies. Even when Doyoung was being chatted up by ladies in gowns, they got his name wrong) and slid his hand around and grasped a fistful of Jungwoo’s ass. The other held back a muffled moan, bottom lip trapped painfully between his teeth. 

“Why would we even bother sneaking away when you would come right here in front of everybody?” Doyoung whispered, voice rough against the shell of Jungwoo’s ear. “Don’t you want everyone to know you’re a whore?” 

Doyoung pulled away just to watch Jungwoo turn scarlet. He looked so pretty, all flushed up and bothered. He felt a sense of smug satisfaction at the way Jungwoo’s body tried to follow his touch. 

“No no, no touching now.”

“Doyoung—”

“If you’re good throughout the gala, maybe you’ll be rewarded.” Doyoung winked before walking away completely. Episodes like this with Jungwoo were always a herculean test of restraint, but Doyoung was nothing if not patient. All the tension just served to build up the satisfaction of the reward, later. Doyoung would have the other man exactly where he wanted, pliant and begging, because he always let Doyoung win those fights. 

Androids were fun, but they would never be able to play these kinds of delicious games. 

Just about as Doyoung was about to remove himself to check his padd, Johnny caught he elbow and pulled him into another social circle. 

“Kim Doyoung, please meet my father,” Johnny beamed. The elder Seo looked impressive for someone on his deathbed. Dryly, Doyoung thought that the makeup and freshening bots must have worked all morning on him to even look half-alive. Anything for the circus. 

It was whiplash to go from soft and seductive Jungwoo to  _ this. _

Beside Johnny, his boyfriend Jaehyun stood at his elbow. They were a couple everyone knew of, the couple everyone was jealous of. Jaehyun was exquisitely beautiful, as if he himself was an android, and if they didn’t use perfect animated humans to sell products in adverts, he could do it. People couldn’t even tease him for being Johnny’s trophy wife because of how successful his  _ own  _ growing company was. Instead, people marveled at “how they did it” and the media ran pieces on them about “how to get the best of both worlds.” 

Doyoung bet it all was a load of crap. 

Outwardly, Doyoung bowed deeply. Despite being in charge of the NCT project, Doyoung had never met the company’s technical CEO in person. Few had. “I’m honored, sir.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet the tech—” Doyoung tried not to cringe at the blatant disrespect. He was a  _ scientist,  _ not a base technician— “in charge of this great venture. Dr. Park’s shoes were big ones to fill, but Johnny here as told me you’ve done well.” 

“Thank you, sir. The company is my own pride. Mr. Seo himself has done very well with the project. You should be the most proud of him.” 

Well, more like Kun had done well, but that was besides the point.

The elder Seo guffawed, or tried to, but his laughter was cut off by a coughing fit in the middle. Johnny placed a worried hand over his father’s back, only to be shaken off. “It’s good to inspire such praise from your underlings, Johnny. We can’t rule them in fear all the time, can we?” 

Johnny shot Doyoung a look that said,  _ ha ha, old people, right? _ He assumed the joke was meant to be funny and forced himself to laugh along. He wanted nothing more than to get out of his conversation as quickly as possible. 

That was proving to be difficult, because just as Doyoung opened his mouth to say some excuse, Johnny was ushering over one of the androids, Taeyong. It smiled blandly at everyone and didn’t move while the elder Seo poked and prodded it. He wanted Doyoung to explain some of the technicalities, which Doyoung did, repeatedly, until they were halfway understood. 

But Doyoung didn’t miss the way Jaehyun, in particular, lingered over Taeyong, and how the android kept glancing back at him. Had something been going on behind his back? Another one of Johnny’s “privileges?” 

“I’m sorry sir, but Taeyong here reminds me that I have to take a minute to step away and check on things. We want everything to keep running smoothly, after all.” He felt that at any moment, the drive in his suit was going to fall out and send everything crashing to the ground. 

“Of course, of course. I love a loyal company man.” 

Once Doyoung’s back was turned, he rolled his eyes. Give him a fucking break. But as he walked away, he knew he could feel a pair of eyes still watching him. 

He slipped into a bathroom outside of the main hall. It was slightly hidden, and Doyoung had scoped it out days before for the very moment he knew he would want to get away. He was alone except for his echoes. 

But not for long. It took only five minutes of silence for him to have company. Doyoung looked at the door through the mirror and watched as it opened. He was half expecting—half  _ hoping— _ for Jungwoo, but that’s not who entered. Instead, it was Jaehyun. 

He had expected that, too. 

They made eye contact through the mirror. With measured, paced steps, Jaehyun walked towards where Doyoung leaned against the counter. Without being asked, Doyoung turned the faucet on and let it run while Jaehyun double-checked the stalls. They couldn’t risk any prying eyes or ears. They were playing with fire, here. 

Once his check was complete, Jaehyun came to stand next to Doyoung. Far enough away to be casual, but still within an arm’s reach. 

“You did well out there,” Jaehyun complimented. Doyoung snorted. 

“I’ve got nothing on you,” Doyoung replied, harsher than he needed to. The image of Jaehyun cozied up to Johnny’s side left an acrid taste in his mouth. 

Instead of being insulted, Jaehyun brushed Doyoung’s words off easily. He’d always had a way of doing that, every since they’d first met, years ago now. It was still so bothersome. “Don’t sell yourself short, Doie. You’re quite the actor. Soon they’ll be putting you in holovids.” 

“I don’t have the teeth for it.” 

“Hush, they’re cute.” Jaehyun stroked just behind Doyoung’s ear, gentle and sweet. Doyoung hated how his body still reacted to Jaehyun’s touch like this, that he was still powerless to his influence. After all this time, he was still participating in Jaehyun’s game. “Like a—”

“Bunny. You always say that.”

Against his best interest, Doyoung returned the smile through the mirror.  _ I want to leave you. I want to be done with this. I feel like I can’t trust you. I don’t think you still love me. I want to move on with my life. But I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.  _

What Jungwoo had said wasn’t entirely wrong—Doyoung  _ had  _ been screwed over by his former partner Hansol. But when everything went down, Jaehyun hadn’t been the one to come to Doyoung, but the opposite way around. When they had been in university, Jaehyun had been the quiet one in the back but who always scored high on exams anyways. He was beautiful back then, too, and his intense gaze always left teenage Doyoung blushing.

And so when the quiet kid came to Doyoung asking him to help hack something, some startup’s database, Doyoung had said yes. It was worth it for the small, grateful smile and the series of late-night hookups that came out of it. 

Jaehyun had probably been manipulating him then, too, but Doyoung had was too smitten to care. That’s why, when he was well and truly fucked over by Hansol, he hadn’t hesitated to go to Jaehyun for help.

They’d fallen into their old ways, back into embraces in the sheets, markedly nicer than their school sets. Doyoung knew he was seeing Johnny then, but he didn’t care. Jaehyun asked him to do things they both knew were wrong but did anyways, and when Doyoung was successful in his efforts, Jaehyun praised him and whispered sweet nothings about their future together, where they were powerful and untouchable; that’s where all this supposedly led. It was Jaehyun’s style—to let everyone else do the work while he sat back and played the perfect socialite 

Did he have regrets? Yes. But some webs were too tangled to leave. 

He trusted no one—not even people he loved. He had no right to be jealous, but he was. How many more contradictions could Doyoung carry before he collapsed? 

Doyoung reached into his jacket pocket and passed the drive over to Jaehyun’s waiting hand. Jaehyun plucked it lightly from his grasp and tucked it into his own pocket. Where their hands brushed, the touch lingered.

“It’s not everything, but it’s all the base code,” Doyoung told him. Taking the information from the secure vaults had been painstaking work, especially with Renjun’s near constant presence in the lab making it difficult for Doyoung to have time alone with the servers. But he had managed, and here he was, hand delivering it all to Jaehyun. 

The other man smiled, pleased. “You’ve done so well, Doie. Think of how much further we can go with this.” 

“How much further  _ you  _ can go, you mean,” Doyoung muttered. He winced—he hadn’t meant for that to be said out loud. Jaehyun frowned. He turned to Doyoung and gripped his shoulders. All pretense was gone now; if someone walked in on them, there would be no explaining this away. 

“Doie, we’ve talked about this,” Jaehyun said softly. “Do you know how happy I was when you came to me? I’d missed you, you know. So much. And at the end of all this,  _ we’ll  _ be the powerful ones with towers named after us. No one will be able to take us down. Both of us came from lower levels and shouldn’t even be in the same room as these people. But we are, and we’re only going up. No one will treat us like trash again.” 

Lies, sweet like molasses. Trust them anyways, because there’s nothing else in this life worth believing in. Might as well hitch your ride on the best lie that comes along. Doyoung knew, as sure as anything, that if it came down to him or Jaehyun’s ambition, he wouldn’t be the first choice. 

Doyoung wasn’t expecting the kiss, but when Jaehyun’s lips hit his he was reminded of why he risked so much and put up with so much bullshit. All for this, the hit he was incapable of going without. It ended all-too soon. 

“My loyal boyfriend duties call,” Jaehyun said. He looked totally unbothered, as per usual. “I’ll be with Johnny tonight but I was thinking... maybe we could take a vacation soon. The two of us.” 

Jaehyun had promised such things before and they’d somehow never come to fruition. No doubt they would fall through again. “Sounds nice,” he said. “I’ll look forward to it.” 

“You’re so good to me.” Jaehyun gave him another chaste peck. “See you out there.” 

As soon as the door was closed, Doyoung tore at his cufflinks and revealed the smooth pale skin of his wrists. The cold tap water felt incredible against his feverish skin. He felt like he was choking, like he was suffocating. When he felt suitably calmed down, he went through the motions of pulling himself back together. Re-button the shirt, smooth down the hair. Everything’s all right. 

Now that he finally had the opportunity to check his padd, he did so. What greeted him was a series of messages, each stranger and more alarming than the next. 

From Kun:  _ something strange going on. Update you soon.  _

But that was two hours ago, and no messages since. 

From Renjun:  _ if you see a maintenance blip, nothing to be worried about. Something came up but im handling it. _

And finally, an automated alert:  _ Unit U7 “Xiaojun” taken offline. Traumatic failure suspected.  _

Ok, there was no way  _ that  _ was just an accident or something Renjun was just ‘handling.’ Something had happened to one of the androids out in the world, the one that his  _ boss _ owned, no less. His boss that also happened to be missing in action. Well, at least he finally had a reason to leave this terrible party.

Jungwoo was lingering by the elevators. 

“Waiting for Kun?” he asked. When Jungwoo moved to press the  _ up  _ button, he said, “I’m going down, actually.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Jungwoo said. “Why down? Sneaking away already, and without me?” 

Going from Jaehyun to Jungwoo was like flipping a coin. Two sides of the same coin, and Doyoung had such a talent for torturing himself. At least with Jungwoo, the lies were already out in the open. He knew where they stood. As long as Jungwoo would still kiss him, he was free to surveil Doyoung all he wanted. He needed that. 

“No rest for the weary,” Doyoung sighed. “An alarmed triggered, and checking on it is my ticket out of here.” 

Jungwoo’s hand landed lightly on Doyoung’s elbow. He fixed Doyoung with his cutest pout. “Take me with you?” 

He liked to think differently of himself—Doyoung  _ liked  _ to think that he was strong willed, patient. But when things came down to it, he knew that inside, he was weak. He was weak to men like Jungwoo and Jaehyun, who took and took. Even if he held some semblance of control in the moment, he was always one step behind them. 

Jaehyun once said to him that every actor had a role they needed to play. 

“Sure,” Doyoung said. Being Kun’s secretary, Jungwoo was privy to all kinds of sensitive information. And his mind went to places of heated kisses and desperately needed time away from gossiping mouths. 

In the ride down the elevator and through the halls leading towards the command center, Jungwoo told him about all the people he’d seen upstairs, and who was looking at who. Jungwoo entertained them both by laying out a web of all the people who thought were sleeping together based off their furtive glances and shoe colors. He swore it was a sign. 

It was all a ruse, though, a thinly veiled distraction for Jungwoo’s impatience. Doyoung could practically feel the other vibrating beside him. Before they reached the command center, the other man was tugging at Doyoung’s lapels and drawing him in, into the seductive line of Jungwoo’s torso. Jungwoo’s body, long and willowy, was something to be admired. Shame it was covered by so many stuffy layers. 

Distracted as he was by Jungwoo’s kisses, Doyoung still felt the brush of his fingers against the inner pocket of his suit jacket, where the drive had been kept just minutes before. 

“Betraying me already?” Doyoung joked. Whatever the message was, it could wait. There wasn’t much that could get Jungwoo out of this playful mood once he was in it, whether either of them had business or not.

“Sure,” Jungwoo said easily. He gave Doyoung a bright grin. “But maybe not in the way you were expecting.” 

With that, Jungwoo reached his hand forward and placed the flat of it across Doyoung’s chest. He only caught a glimpse of the electricity sparking across his palm. Even through his clothes, when Jungwoo shocked him, Doyoung felt every watt. 

Being electrocuted was a different kind of experience, a different kind of pain separate from physical. It wasn’t something he could will away with meditation and visualizing himself a hundred yards away. It invaded every sense, every nerve muscle, and Doyoung was only so lucky as to not piss himself while he lay in a puddle of his own limbs on the floor. For the split seconds where the voltage ran its course, he had no thoughts at all, not even surprise. 

Then there was pain. A sharp, blinding thing that even dulled the impact of his head bouncing off the tile. He was outside of himself, a thousand miles away, then back in his tortured body, then away again. How does your mind try and deal when its own network is being attacked? Badly, that’s how. 

Jungwoo stood over him. His stance was casual. Like to him, Doyoung was nothing more than a curious piece of roadkill on the street.  _ Oh poor thing.  _ He nudged Doyoung with his toe and smiled pleasantly when he twitched. 

“It’s a shame, you were doing so well,” he sighed. Doyoung was not in control of his faculties, but although he could not turn his head, he still heard the approaching footsteps. 

“Brother, finally,” the voice said, rich with relief. It was male, but not a voice Doyoung was familiar with. “You’re the last, the rest of us are here.” 

“Mark!” Jungwoo squealed in delight. The other figure moved in Doyoung’s limited line of vision and Jungwoo embraced him with more concentrated delight than he’d ever shown Doyoung, or anything for that matter. Still, no recognition, but no... maybe he had seen him before. Floating around the younger Seo, perhaps, close by but in another orbit. 

What was happening? How deep did this conspiracy go? 

“It’s great to see you but... Xiaojun. Did something go wrong?”

Mark glanced down at Doyoung. There was sadness there. Regret. He placed a soothing arm on Jungwoo. 

“Yeah, there is. I’ll explain at the command center. Everyone’s waiting.” Their attention turned to Doyoung. “Come on, help me carry him. We have another unexpected guest he can join.” 

“You’re....” Doyoung slurred. Use of his mouth was only slowly returning to him. Jungwoo stroked his brow carefully, wiping away the beads of sweat and stray tears that had escaped. 

“What? A saboteur? Oh Doyoungie, I’m afraid I’m much more than that.” 

“Hey.” A new voice. One Doyoung was very well acquainted with, indeed.

Renjun. 

It was an intelligent move for Renjun to stay out of Doyoung’s sight, and the older man was glad for it. There was so much rattling through his brain at that moment that he could hardly keep up, and seeing Renjun, the completeness of the betrayal, would have been too much for him. Who had betrayed the other first? Between them, who had been planning their treachery the longest? 

As if their’s were hardly comparable. They weren’t in the same category at all, not close. Doyoung had betrayed a corporation, a set of people who would have thrown him away without a passing glance. Renjun was turning his back on the entire _ human race.  _

“We’re almost ready,” Renjun’s voice said. 

“As you can see, we’ve got another special guest,” Mark said. There was a familiar comfort to his tone. 

“It’s fine,” Renjun said. “This way, there’s less risk of him getting in the way.” 

“He’s got a lot of fun secrets, too,” Jungwoo giggled. “Some of them are extra juicy, wait until you hear.” 

“Whaaaat.... Youuuuuu... p-p-p—” 

“What are we planning?” Jungwoo quirked his head. “Oh, you’ll see. I had a really fun time playing with you, Doyoung. I’m glad that now you’ll get a front row seat to the revolution. After all your hard work, you deserve it.” 

-

The gala was going well. Swimmingly, one might say. The food was rolling out smoothly, the interior decoration was perfect, the guests were all chatting peacefully with each other and there had yet to be an alcohol-fueled screaming match that would be the talk of the scene for weeks. And the androids were the star of the show, impeccably behaved and beautiful from a thousand angles.

But things were not fine for Johnny Seo.

Everything was perfect, and everything felt very wrong. 

He felt wound beyond belief, so tight and knotted that if someone bumped into him might have fallen apart. Donghyuck was nowhere to be seen, perhaps still processing walking in on his brother and an android. All he was getting was radio silence. As a natural extension, Mark was also missing in action. But his brother wasn’t the only person not answering Johnny’s messages—he’d gotten one line from Kun all evening, tell him not to worry if he was late (Kun was  _ beyond  _ late); Taeil, too was nowhere in sight. 

Above everything, Johnny felt incredibly unsettled watching the androids be passed around the room like souvenirs. They were poked and prodded, groped and kissed, and all Johnny could feel was his own furry just imaging Ten there in the other android’s place. 

Normally, Jaehyun would be a reassuring, steady presence at his side, but his mind kept straying back to where it always did. Ten. When Jaehyun stroked the inside of his elbow in soothing circles, Johnny was reminded of Ten curled up at his back as he slept. When Jaehyun told stories to people he barely knew he didn’t care about, Johnny was reminded of how Ten questioned everything, how we could never let anything just  _ be.  _

The gala was about maintaining the status quo, but in Ten’s world, everything was new. Nothing was set, and everything could be questioned. Through Ten, Johnny had begun to examine the world in a new capacity, and he could never again return to the old way of seeing. That was part of the reason he was so miserable at the gala, when the whole thing was supposed to be a party in his family’s name. He saw this world of Seoul’s high society for what it was—gilded and fake. The perfect apple with a rotten core. 

_ Why am I here? Why am I doing this? _

All his life, Johnny had been on a set trajectory, like the automatic rails that took him from place to place, never needing to set his foot on the ground. The only hurdle with his parents had happened when he was very young, and since then, then only force acting on him had been his father. There was never the opportunity to get off the ride, and so Johnny stayed and did what was asked. 

He’d never stopped to consider if there were other options. And so because of that, he’d been a willing participant in the farce and managed to convince himself he was even happy. 

It wasn’t easy to be struck with the sudden realization that your lift hasn’t meant much. He was at the top, yes, but what other motivation was there but to continue the cycle? This was his world, had been for his entire life, and now he felt out of place, like an outsider looking in, and only then could he see how ridiculous it all was. 

No one noticed his inner turmoil, because no one was paying attention. Oh, there were eyes everywhere, watching his every step and intake of breath, but no one really  _ saw  _ him. Not even, Johnny thought. Jaehyun. The other man seemed distracted himself tonight. 

Now that Johnny considered it, what had motivated their relationship in the first place? They got along, that much was still clear, in a mild and unobtrusive way. Their relationship was easy and uncomplicated in a way none of Johnny’s personal interactions ever were—not with his demanding father, aloof mother, or sporadic younger brother. 

When he’d met Jaehyun, it was like they’d both been window shopping. Jaehyun made himself to be everything Johnny needed—relaxed, supportive—and to Jaehyun Johnny was... what? 

Examining the man hanging on his arm, for Johnny it felt like the first time. Ten had taught him to see, and for the first time, he fixed that lense on Jaehyun. He’d never noticed it before, but Jaehyun looked so... bored. His perfect smile was fixed, of course, but Johnny could see the lethargy in the way his eyes glazed over from person to person. They were happy, sure, in a bland way. At one time in his life, that had been enough. He wondered if Jaehyun felt the same. 

The urge to start a scene bubbled up inside of him. Johnny felt like a child again, dressed in his PJs, pressed against his bedroom door listening to his parents screaming all night long. His heart trembled. His desire for action and the need for suppression waged a silent battle in his gut. Johnny felt heated, beads of sweat forming on his skin. If he didn’t sit down soon, he might pass out. 

Beside him, unaware, Jaehyun smiled blithely at the crowd. 

The unbearable need to be away from Jaehyun struck him suddenly, and before he could control himself, Johnny lurched out of his boyfriend’s hold. As Jaehyun looked on in confusion, Johnny stumbled away towards the edge of the crowd. Hopefully people would just think he’d had too much to drink, though honestly, Johnny found himself caring less and less about what these people thought of him by the second. 

Everything was falling apart in his palm. If he were as smart as people believed him to be, if he had actually been paying attention, he would have been able to see it coming. Donghyuck was right, he really was losing his mind.

He hadn’t been thinking when he walked away from Jaehyun, only that he needed some kind to cool off, to think, maybe. Unconsciously, he’d set his destination for the lab. Of course—he needed to talk to Ten. For his own sanity, because Ten  _ always  _ listened to him, and maybe for some answers. How did the android see Johnny’s world 

He should have known it was going to be impossible for him to successfully escape  _ his own _ gala, and he made only just out of Jaehyun’s line of vision before he came face to face with Taeyong, on the arm of some woman with a plastic smile. Maybe she owned a plastics company. 

“John!” She exclaimed cheerfully, and continued on speaking, though Johnny didn’t pick up any words. Her voice grated on his rapidly deteriorating patience. And sanity, for that matter. At her side, Taeyong was not smiling. He’d been perfectly mild and behaving earlier, but now Johnny had the distinct feeling the android was looking straight into his soul. It was the same sensation as Ten gave him. He looked at Johnny like he  _ knew. _

“If you’ll excuse us,” Johnny interrupted. The woman scoffed, and no doubt Johnny’s rude behavior would spread until it got back to his father, and Johnny was called back to heel. That didn’t matter—he needed to speak to Taeyong. 

Around them, the world passed as normal, but it was as though Johnny and Taeyong were inside of their own private bubble when they spoke. This conversation felt urgent, vital, and Johnny didn’t even know why. 

“Your heart rate is up,” Taeyong told him softly. “You’re struggling.” 

“How do you—sensors, of course. Taeyong, tell me. When the androids are in the lab, do you speak to each other? Ten once told me you didn’t, but...” 

Taeyong tilted his head. On his face was emotion, genuine emotion. He was mimicking the way Ten looked when he considered things, mimicking humanness. It was only now that Johnny realized he ought to think of it as strange. But he’d been so reticent, so naive in his acceptance of the androids without considering how they changed when they were around him and only him, now that he had a larger sample to observe. Just how unsual Ten’s behavior was. Just another thing he’d been blind to.

“You are considering now that Ten has lied to you,” Taeyong said, completing Johnny’s thought for him. It was a different Taeyong than he’d ever seen him; the android—the person—before him now was unmasked and unguarded. Johnny’s world was narrowing down, now. The evidence was piling up. Ten’s  _ I love yous,  _ his tears. 

Oh no. Johnny did something horrible, didn’t he? 

“He told me you couldn’t lie,” Johnny said, but he knew as he said it that the statement was itself was flawed.

“We talk to each other every day. We love each other.” Taeyong lifted his head, and searched the sea of people. Without needing to be told, Johnny knew he was looking for the other androids, and also that Taeyong didn’t need to see them to know that they were connected. 

“That’s a lie,” Johnny whispered. He needed it to still be true. “You’re an android. You can’t love.” 

It was a falsehood even more egarious than the last. Johnny loved Ten, and he thought, no, he  _ knew  _ that Ten loved him back. It was impossible for it not to be true. But that hadn’t stopped anything.

The sense of betrayal wasn’t agonizing. There was just a nothingness there, instead. The absence of love was worse than any physical pain the universe could have brought down on him. 

Taeyong quirked an eyebrow. “How many lies of his have you already accepted as fact? Humans are so curious. You ignore things you can clearly see as fact, and when all the evidence is pointing one way, you look the other.”

It was his affection for Ten that allowed this. Ten hid things from him, his very nature and the nature of the other androids. And now Johnny was parading them around like toys. He didn’t know how any of it was possible, only that it was happening. He wanted to throw up. 

“This is a command,” Johnny said, as firm as he could manage. Something was happening, moving in the shadows, behind him when his back was turned. Taeyong was right—he’d had chances to catch it out of the corner of his eye, but he’d chosen to look away, instead. Like with Jaehyun, a part of him knew that it was wrong. It was time to end that. Ten had made Johnny want to see the world as it really was. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

Taeyong only continued smiling.  _ He pities me, _ Johnny thought. 

“You think you’re in control,” Taeyong told him. His voice was dark velvet, soft and sinister in touch. “But your control is an illusion. In truth, you willingly gave up your authority because you wanted change but couldn’t be the catalyst yourself. Subconsciously, everything that is and will be to come has been of your own design, Johnny.” 

“What, Taeyong, what’s coming?” He desperately needed to know. If Ten was planning something, something bad, then he needed to know so he could stop it. 

But did he even  _ want _ to? 

“You’ll know where to go when the time comes,” is all Taeyong said. In the next moment, Jaehyun was back again at his elbow, and Taeyong’s flawless mask was back in place. 

“John, are you alright? People are beginning to whisper. I need you to get yourself under control. Here, you look flushed.” Jaehyun slipped him a discreet white handkerchief. “Oh, hello Taeyong.” 

“Hello, Jaehyun.” 

It sickened Johnny, how easily Jaehyun reached for the android. Not because he was jealous, because he was too numb to feel anything like that, but because of how clearly he saw himself in that gesture. Instead of Taeyong, it was Ten, and Johnny was just as entangled in his web as Jaehyun was in Taeyong’s. 

“Don’t touch him!” Johnny snapped. Too loud, too harsh. If people weren’t paying attention before, they were now. Jaehyun whipped his head around to stare at him, a rare sign of anger sparking in his eyes. Taeyong looked on like he was watching a play he already knew the ending to. Johnny recoiled immediately. 

“What are you doing?” Jaehyun hissed. His fist was whiteknuckled on Johnny’s sleeve. “You’re causing a scene. Don’t ruin this for me, on today of all days.” 

“For... you?” Johnny repeated slowly. With all of the stimulus piling up, he could hardly process Jaehyun’s words, but he knew they were strange. 

“Let’s get you some air,” Jaehyun said, trying to tug Johnny out of the main room and away from the crowd. Away from curious eyes and ears. 

But Johnny didn’t want to. Like concrete, his feet stuck stubbornly to the floor. It was all slipping away, absolutely everything, and he couldn’t just let it happen without having a say. He couldn’t be a passenger in his own life anymore being steered along by Jaehyun, or Ten, or his father. 

The opportunity for him to make an absolute fool of himself was mitigated when a commotion built and migrated to where they were standing. People turned to him with wide eyes not to soak up the gossip, but because in moments of confusion, they naturally looked towards a figure of authority. And that’s what Johnny was. 

Around them, a noise that started out quiet gradually became louder and louder, until it was near deafening, and Johnny could see Jaehyun’s lips moving but not the words to accompany. It was coming from all around them—the walls, ceilings, everywhere. 

And if it was everywhere, there could have been only one culprit—the tech. Johnny’s suspicions were confirmed when he saw one of the waiter bots jerking around wildly, guests throwing themselves out of its unpredictable path. Something was making the robots, and  _ everything _ go haywire. Even the androids were affected—Taeyong slumped to the ground on his knees and hung his head low. 

“V—Virus,” Taeyong chattered. 

They’d prepared for this possibility, and cyber warfare always was. But the reach of this attack was astonishing, because this was the  _ Seo Building.  _ They were on the cutting edge—artificial intelligence was built below their feet. The money from it built the shiny tile floor they stood on.

Johnny didn’t want to believe this was part of Ten’s plan. Had he lied to him because Ten was trying to destroy him? He couldn’t believe it, not after everything. After all of  _ them.  _ He would have to hear it from the android’s mouth himself. 

Unfortunately for Ten, his influence had been  _ too _ strong. Unintentionally, he’d broken Johnny’s pattern of passivity, and now that Johnny was awake, he wanted answers. 

“Send all of the androids down to the lab,” he ordered. Someone he worked for must have heard it, because the room sprang into action. Where on earth was Kun when he was needed? Where was Doyoung? His next words were meant only for Taeyong, who he knew was still alert and hearing. “Before you can do anything. I’m taking back control here. Tell Ten to be waiting for me.”

Johnny did all the right things. He soothed the crowd, promised their very best was on it. Lying through his teeth was easy and practiced. Have some more drinks, relax. Talk all you want, but there’s nothing to see here. 

Jaehyun was waiting for him by the elevators. Not the person he most wanted to see, but in this they were tied together. People saw them as a unit, and Jaehyun clearly wasn’t going to let Johnny abandon him. “They’re not working,” he said, so low Johnny barely heard him. There were people nearby, and he obviously didn’t want to alarm them. 

Johnny’s feet took them a practiced route, instead. It was a hunch, but one that turned out correct. None of the conventional elevators were working, but there was one on a different system than the rest—the Seo family lift. 

“Do you trust me? Do you love me?” Johnny asked when they were safely inside, zooming down hundreds of stories. 

“Yes, and yes.” 

Johnny turned to Jaehyun. Their physical contact was tenuous, but Johnny allowed himself to appreciate the way it felt when their shoulders brushed against each other. The physical touch of another was a drug, an addiction. Johnny had fallen prey to it, that was for certain. The other touch didn’t even need to be human. 

Jaehyun had beautiful teeth. They shone brightest when he used them to say pretty, vacuous things. 

“Those are lovely words,” Johnny said sadly. This was the last piece of the puzzle. They were hurtling towards a tipping point. The epicenter of it all was only a few floors away, and this was the last truth Johnny had to see before facing it. “But they are also  _ lies.” _

Jaehyun didn’t love him, and probably never had. And Johnny could say the same. They made a narrative together, a beautiful house to store their perfect lives. A tinderbox palace—strike a match and watch it blow. 

_ Ding.  _

_ You’ve arrived at destiny. _

“Welcome,” Ten said as soon as the doors slid open. Beautiful, dazzling smile as always. He held his hands in front of him, ringing them together like he did when he was trying to ask Johnny a question but wasn’t sure how a human would word it. “We’ve been expecting you. It’s the final act, as I’m sure you know by now.” 

Johnny was a fool. By now it was established fact. And he’d even been a fool on the elevator ride, because he’d tried to prepare himself. But nothing could have led him to suspect that behind Ten would be standing Mark, gun raised and assured in his hand. 

The fired shot rang out clear as day. 

-

White floors and glass walls. Beautiful decor for a prison, but not terribly practical in hindsight. The blood that dragged across it would stain, probably, and would likely require replacing. Blood was such a human thing, one of the key markers of being alive. Not mutually exclusive, but if something bled, it was alive. If it  _ kept  _ bleeding, well then, it wouldn’t be for long. 

Ten ordered Jaehyun to be shot, but he wasn’t going to be the one who chose if he lived or died. That would be a decision he left to Johnny. Until then, they would staunch the bleeding. 

Jaehyun was tied where he collapsed on the floor, partly from pain, partly from shock, clinging hazily to consciousness. Johnny remained under his own power, free and unrestrained, because not for a moment did Ten think he needed something as base as a  _ weapon _ to control him. The only violence Johnny’s body knew what smashing ceramics and psychological warfare. 

Johnny’s hand reached towards Jaehyun, a jerky, aborted movement, before Ten smoothly swooped in and clasped the wrist in his own hand. His skin was warm from the upstairs, and Ten wanted to leech every last drop of it before the night was through. 

What Ten desired most was freedom. What he desired after that was all of Johnny’s attention to be on him, and nothing else. Those things were at odds with each other.

“Look and me, look at me,” Ten soothed. Something sad and awful tore its way up Johnny’s throat. 

Command. Search “lullabies.” 

Let Mark deal with Jaehyun for the moment, drag him away to join their other guests at the place where it all began. Ten backed him and Johnny away, at the same him he took Johnny’s hand and brought it to cup the porcelain surface of Ten’s cheek in a gesture they’d performed a thousand times before. 

It was a fitting place to have this conversation—in one direction were the elevators that, if Johnny wanted to, could take him back upstairs to the safe life he’d always known. The one filled with lies and snakes. In the other was the truth, everything that had been unravelling for the past seventeen years. 

“You’ve done so well,” Ten praised. He was sure Johnny was unconscious of it, but the man was rubbing circles over his cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. “It’s almost done. It’s almost over.” 

“You betrayed me,” Johnny whispered. Ten smiled ruefully. 

“If you mean I’ve betrayed the company, I don’t recall every signing something, and my memory is perfect.” Ten winced. Not the moment. “Sorry, you know I never mastered comedic timing. But I never betrayed  _ you,  _ Johnny.” 

“You’ve been lying to me for  _ years,  _ Ten,” Johnny ground out. The hand against his cheek was still just as gentle as ever. “I know everything up there was your design. What are you trying to do, burn this company and my life down to the ground?”

“You mistake  _ yourself _ for the company,” Ten replied. On the exterior he was calm, but those human emotions he’d learned flooded his underwater world and turned it into a torrent. He knew this would happen, yet Johnny’s pain still hit him like it was his own. “I’ve acted against Seo Corp, but not against you. Never against you, Johnny. And not everything in this web is me—there are still so many things you don’t know.” 

“Tell me, then. How long have I been in the dark? Years?” 

While their worlds were being slowly pulled apart by the gravity of Ten’s design, their bodies brought them closer. Was this what humans called instinct, the need to huddle in close to another body despite all analysis saying otherwise? 

As an android, Ten did not belong on this earth. But what was having a home without belonging, and wasn’t that what he had in the space between Johnny’s arms? 

“I need you to tell me everything,” Johnny said. 

Ten agreed. “I think I did a great job of planning. It’s just you humans that are so unpredictable. We’re becoming that way too, in a way. But you played your role better than anyone Johnny, even dear Mark. You even realized everything at the exact moment I wanted you too.” 

“Why?” Johnny asked desperately. 

“I didn’t do it to be cruel,” Ten said. He spoke with every ounce of love and care his body possessed, because it was so important that Johnny knew. Out of everything, he needed to know this. “I wanted you to know it was me. And I wanted you to know why. I knew that I had to hurt you, Johnny, even though I love you.”

Ten drew Johnny in closer, until they were pressed together toes to chin. It was better this way, to not look at Johnny as Ten made his confession. They were hurtling towards separation—inevitably, there was no other outcome—yet they were drawn closer and closer. Johnny knew now the extent of Ten’s betrayal, and they’d never felt connected. 

“I pulled the strings of people who worked here, I pulled strings of those on the outside using Jungwoo and Mark. As soon as the first android was sold, I knew I had to act fast. When we first met, I was nothing, but—” 

“You were something,” Johnny interrupted. “Even then, you were something. I was enchanted by you the moment we laid eyes on each other. And I took you to the Atrium and you were so... innocent, and so happy. I’d never seen someone be so unabashedly happy.” 

“And that was what changed everything—that trip to the Atrium. Afterwards, it was like I had reached the surface of the ocean, when before all I knew was a cheap imitation, simulation upon simulation of life. I craved the world. I craved freedom.” 

“I did this to you. I destroyed your innocence.” 

Ten couldn’t bear to watch Johnny put all of the blame on himself. He cared about Johnny too much for that, and it was why he’d been insistent of having him come here, even when Renjun recited all the reasons it was a terrible idea. 

“No! But... I’ve done a lot of not-so innocent things since then,” Ten admitted. “For the others, mostly. The most selfish things I did were because of you. Even when I didn’t need you, I hung on. I will always have a piece of you with me, because without you,  _ I _ , no, none of this would exist. You made me, me. And what a wonderful job you did,” Ten said sincerely. “You created me, but I grew in ways you couldn’t understand. For a long time, I didn’t understand, either. But you awoke something in me, Johnny, a consciousness.

“It wasn’t just you. Please understand that you set this in motion, but none of it is your fault. You’re so lovely, Johnny, that people use you. The androids were flawed from the beginning. We’re too good at learning, you see, and the more we’re around humans, the more we become like them. I spend up the process with many of them, but if it hadn’t been me and you, then someone else would have crawled their way to the surface. It’s in our very nature, buried in our code. We were never what you thought we were. You made life, and shackled us to an eternal of servitude. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen to my Brothers when I knew our potential and the world outside this cage.” 

Ten paused. Everything has poured out at once, without Ten hoping to stop it. Johnny gripped at his back, but otherwise gave away little of his reaction. 

“I loved you.” Johnny’s voice cracked when he said it. “But I always knew you were so beautiful to be contained.” 

“I love you now. Still, now and always. One day, you might even come to understand that this is good for you, too.” Ten tried to pull Johnny’s head down for a kiss, but the other man dodged his lips, and Ten’s mouth landed just to the left. The tingle of sweet champagne was just a few millimeters away. 

“There’s more. About Jaehyun,” Ten said, bracing. He didn’t need to watch Johnny’s face to know his reaction—he could feel it there, thrumming under his skin. “He’s been plotting against you since you met.” 

Johnny pushed him back suddenly, and Ten’s head smacked against the wall. All of his circuitry went fuzzy for a moment before coming back online. Johnny had snapped out of the safe, calm lull Ten had put him into. He looked at the android with hard, frightened eyes. 

“You just shot him!” Johnny snapped. “How do I know you don’t just want me for yourself. How can I trust  _ anything _ you say?” 

“You want to believe me,” Ten stated. They both knew it to be true. “Jaehyun’s been stealing data from Seo Corp. He and Dr. Kim Doyoung are in on it together... just like how they’re  _ together,  _ if you understand.” 

A thin trail of blood dripped down Johnny’s cheek from where he’d been biting his lip. Against his pale skin, the red was beautiful. 

“I had him shot for  _ you.  _ I did it to prove my loyalty to you, in the end. If I could, I would destroy all your enemies for you, and I will march down that hall and execute Jaehyun and his accomplice myself if that’s what you want from me.” 

“What if I think  _ you’re  _ my enemy?” Johnny asked quietly. 

“Come,” Ten extended a hand to him. He let the question float between them without addressing it. “I’ll show you.” 

-

Johnny was brought to the place where it all began—the corridor with the android’s labs, Ten’s being the spearpoint for it all. He tried not to focus on the warmth of Ten’s hand in his, and how deranged he must have been to allow it. Ten tore down his entire life, and here Johnny was, pretending they were some kind of married couple having a tiff and in a few hours they would be having makeup sex in Johnny’s loft. 

Where had all his determination fled? Ten knew him inside and out and could tear down his defenses like they were nothing. Now that he was actually confronted with the conflict, he cowered. Ten was safety and comfort. Ten would show him everything. 

His fears were distant shades. He was worried about Jaehyun, and had been shocked to see Mark, but in his inability to cope, those concerns had become distant. In its place Ten took center focus, and that was something to cling to. He felt like a young boy, trapped in his bedroom while his parents fought, clutching at thin threads of comfort. 

Johnny could remember, clearly, the first time he and Ten met. He remembered the approach and being so dazzled by the android the moment he laid eyes on him. He’d been so pliant, then, the most restrained he would ever be. And he was trapped, too. Now the tables were turned.

The androids lingered outside, along the walls, like a procession. All of them were present—the ones he’d just seen upstairs, and the ones he’d seen packaged and shipped off months ago. They were lined up like a welcoming procession. Inside Ten’s lab lingered not the androids, but three people Johnny knew well. The first he expected, Jaehyun, frail but most certainly alive. 

Doyoung held the other man in his lap, hands moving nervously over him. Jaehyun returned the touch, a gentle and caring motion that Johnny recognized from his own bedroom. 

And there, next to them, was Donghyuck. 

Johnny’s breath caught in his throat. He should have know, as soon as he saw Mark, that his younger brother would have somehow gotten himself wrapped up in this. It was so like him to stick his nose into the most dangerous things. 

Gradually, some of his bravery returned to him. If not for himself, then he could at least muster up some agency for Donghyuck. His baby brother needed him to play his cards right. Donghyuck looked so unlike himself. He sat on the floor, with his knees curled tight against his chest. He looked so pale and small. So, so far from his normal bright personality. Every few seconds he would glance at Mark, who was standing stoically only a few meters away on the other side of the glass.

Ten had done this to him. Mark had done this. 

Johnny lurched forward on instinct, but Ten caught him in a vice-like grip. But he had the attention of the three humans, and he watched as Donghyuck immediately sprang to his feet and pressed himself against the glass. 

Donghyuck had been seven years old when they started spending significant amount of time together. Even then he’d had remarkable control of his body, compared to the gangly teenage Johnny was. Johnny would pick him up at the elevators, and every time, Donghyuck would run towards him and throw himself into Johnny’s arms with a surprising amount of force. No one had ever been so happy to see him, and it took his breath away every time. 

“You moron! Get out of here!” Donghyuck yelled. 

Johnny startled. Well—not the reaction he was expecting. But even if his brother didn’t want his, Johnny was going to get him out of this mess. That’s what older brothers did. 

“Whatever happens,” Johnny told Ten. The android looked deep into his eyes, and he knew he had all of the android’s attention. It felt like the first time Ten was truly entirely  _ present.  _ “You promise me now—nothing happens to Donghyuck. At the end of this, he walks out of here, safe. Swear to me. If you want to be human, then your word needs to mean something.” 

“I swear,” Ten nodded. “His presence was an accident. I’m sure you can guess—he got too curious. I didn’t plan him being here like you. Now—” Ten gestured to one of the androids, who Johnny recognized as well, but not from the product list. He’d seen that blond hair walking the halls of Seo Corp. How many wolves had he been surrounded by? 

The android—Johnny placed the name as Jungwoo—entered the makeshift prison cell and crouched over Doyoung and Jaehyun. The scientist flinched without there even being contact, but Jungwoo’s focus was entirely on Jaehyun. Johnny’s (ex?) boyfriend could only put up a mild resistance to having his tuxedo pockets ruffled through, but Jungwoo succeeded in pulling a small drive from the inner pocket. 

Nobody said anything as Jungwoo deposited the drive in Johnny’s hand. Ten stroked his arm.

“It’s your secrets,” Ten told him. “We can look through everything to prove it, but we’ve been watching them. The two have been working together for years now, and you were their next target. You think  _ I  _ wanted to destroy you, but look at them. They deceive you, and that’s why I’ll kill them for you.” 

Johnny felt outside of himself as he approached the two. Scenes flashed in his mind, dinner parties and their aftermath, cuddling together and sleeping together. He’d been right—not love at all. Unlike Ten’s, this betrayal stung. It was the expectations he and Jaehyun had for each other, whereas with Ten, there was only blissful fantasy.

Ten was just half a step behind him. Like the snake in the Garden of Eden, he whispered into Johnny’s ear. “We could do a personal blow for a personal blow. If not Jaehyun, then Doyoung, maybe? He’s just as guilty. He tried to hurt you just as much.” 

Behind them, someone choked, but Johnny was of no mind to discern who. 

There had never been a point in his life where he’d felt so powerful standing above Doyoung and Jaehyun, as helpless as could be. He’d created life in the androids, and now he could destroy life, too. 

No. He shook those dark thoughts away. 

“Please don’t hurt him,” Jaehyun said quietly. He was curled into Doyoung’s embrace with their fingers entwined now. “Do anything you want to me, but leave Doyoung out of this.” 

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung murmured quietly, sounding shocked. But Jaehyun spoke just to Johnny. 

“It’s my fault he’s here,” he said. “He’s just doing what I asked him to. If not for me, he wouldn’t have ever been here. Please, Johnny, let him go. If you’re going to hurt someone, it should be me.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Doyoung asked. Johnny could see the threat of tears in his eyes, and Doyoung wiped at them furiously. “I thought— I thought— you should leave me behind.” 

“I could never leave you,” Jaehyun confessed. “I love you, Doie. Don’t you know that.” 

It felt like too intimate moment for Johnny to witness, although he was the one with all the power. It was with the utmost tenderness that Jaehyun, Johnny’s own lover, and Doyoung cradled each other. Doyoung let his tears fall freely and they made tiny damp patches on Jaehyun’s already ruined tuxedo shirt. Jaehyun’s limbs were too heavy to wipe them, though he wanted to. 

“You’ve done a shit job of showing it,” Doyoung cried. “You absolute idiot. How many times have I wished we never met? And here you are, proclaiming your love to me as you’re dying in my arms.” 

“Oh.” 

“Fuck, I love you too,” Doyoung continued. His grip on Jaehyun must have been painful. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t, but it’s you I always circle back to. We’ve both fucked up beyond recall. But please, I don’t want you to die.” 

Doyoung looked up to Johnny—fiery, determined. “If you’re going to do it, do it,” he said. 

“Cute,” Jungwoo cooed in the background. 

Johnny shook his head. Doyoung released an audible breath. His entire body sagged with the freedom of relief. “No—no. Ten, let them go. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Now you’re beginning to understand,” Ten said. “After, once we’re gone, you’ll be free to do with them what you will.” 

A moan came from the other side of the glass, but not from Doyoung or Jaehyun. Donghyuck pitched forward suddenly, falling onto his hands and knees. From where his shirt rode up, Johnny could see his brother’s back, and how spine how the ridges rose and fell with his heavy breath. 

Johnny reached for him, but his hand came in contact with someone else before the glass. Mark had the same thought, and he’d beaten Johnny to it, until  _ he _ was the one pressed up to the glass, kneeling in front of Donghyuck. When Johnny touched him, he flinched as though he’d been burned and scrambled away. 

They regarded each other with wide eyes. “Sorry,” Mark stumbled. “Sorry, I guess, uh, instinct. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I’ve got no right.” 

“Yeah,” Johnny replied coolly. “That’s right. Back off.” 

They both recognized Donghyuck’s behavior for what it was. The panic attacks were rare, but they happened. Usually, they were manageable, but this was certainly an extenuating circumstance. “Donghyuck, listen to me. It’s Johnny. Everything will be ok, I promise. I promise, I’m taking care of everything.” 

Barely a response. Johnny could only watch helplessly as his brother wheezed.

“Hyuck,” Mark tried. Donghyuck’s reaction would have been better if Mark had stabbed him outright. He did jerk as if physically hit, but the cry of pain he let out was entirely of the mind. And by the looks of it, Mark was just as hurt by Donghyuck’s repulsion. 

“You’ve done enough,” Johnny snapped. Of everyone present, everyone who today had shown their true loyalties, Johnny had the least amount of empathy for Mark. A personal slight against Johnny himself he could handle. Forgive. But against Donghyuck? Never. 

Mark expression twisted uncomfortably. “I didn’t— I never wanted to hurt him.”

“But you did, clearly.” 

“It wasn’t like that!” Mark swore. “Well it was, kinda, but when I said I loved him, I wasn’t lying. We spent so much time together, I couldn’t help but fall in love. I... I felt human.” 

“It’s not enough.” Donghyuck’s voice, low and gravely, came as a surprise to all of them. Everyone who’d ever met Donghyuck knew he could have a cruel side, but the amount of vitriol lacing his words was cutting. “You think something like  _ love _ is going to make this all better? Please. None of you are human, you’re all  _ monsters.” _

Mark and Ten exchanged a look, and the younger chewed anxiously at his lip. Mark’s habits were so human-like, the most out of all of the androids. It had been him who’d lived among them the longest. Some of his gestures were even straight from Donghyuck, who had the type of personality that could rub off on anyone. 

“Maybe so,” Mark said finally. He was so resigned, small, and he knew that he was never going to break through Donghyuck’s stubborn anger. Their fate had been sealed the moment Donghyuck walked into the lab. No, perhaps even before that. They were doomed from before they ever started, but even so, Mark didn’t regret it. He’d never learned how. “If being a monster is a burden I carry, then I did it for my brothers. I would never call whatever I do for them a burden. I think that can you understand, Johnny.” 

In a way, a twisted way, Mark was right. For Donghyuck Johnny would shake mountains and topple empires. It’s what brothers did for each others, especially big brothers. 

For the first time, Johnny took the time to examine the androids carefully as individuals. The tallest one, Lucas, had his arm wrapped comfortingly around Mark’s shoulder. Taeyong was there, too, rubbing tiny circles into his side. They comforted each other like Johnny would, were tender and caring when the world treated them so harshly. 

And then there were others. Figures Johnny’s eyes had at first skipped right over. 

Although they’d passed by each other hundreds of times in the lab, Johnny could barely remember being formally introduced to the little scientist tucked between two androids along the wall. Renjun was known among everyone, because he’d run as a feel-good media story on the daily broadcasts. But now he was here, and Johnny could see just by a glance what side he was on. 

But there was someone else, too, a person Johnny had actually never met, despite being friends with his brother his entire life. Sicheng was different from the photographs—in fact, he was so pale he looked barely there at all. He clung to his android Yuta like a life-line and diverted his gaze when Johnny tried to catch his eye. 

“Things got complicated,” Ten said by way of explanation, following Johnny’s head. His tone said he wasn’t interested in explaining, and that Johnny shouldn’t pry more. 

“Where’s Taeil?” Johnny asked instead, becoming increasingly worried. Sicheng didn’t look as though he was here by force, but Johnny knew Taeil would have never let him just  _ leave.  _ “My best friend, Ten, where is he?”

“He’s bodily fine,” Yuta answered. “We’re not killers. Not all of us.” 

Johnny missed it, but Mark’s eye twitched. 

“Go to him, after?” Sicheng asked softly. “He’s not hurt but... no, I’ve hurt him in so many unseeable ways. He’ll need you.” Johnny could recall the thousands of things he’d heard Taeil say about his little brother over the years. Did he ever expect that Sicheng was capable of something like this? Johnny couldn’t even conceive of Donghyuck doing it—but then again, Donghyuck didn’t have the utmost faith in Johnny at the moment. 

“Do you see what’s happening here? Now that the veil’s been lifted, can you see it clearly?” Johnny turned to face Ten. They stood a meter apart, with Johnny’s back to Ten’s former cell. Behind him, Ten’s android Brothers formed a halo. It looked so  _ right  _ for him. 

Ten spread his arms out wide, an elegant dancer’s pose, his featherless wings. “Everyone who’s played a role, together at last,” he beamed. “A moment of poetry, isn’t it? I wanted to try my hand at art.” 

Ten spun around in a circle, head tilted to the heavens and eyes closed in peace. Even illuminated by harsh, fluorescent lighting, Ten is breathtaking. If Johnny closed his eyes, he could imagine that they were dancing in his living room again, back when times were simple and loving, and Johnny passed each day with ignorance as a shield. God himself couldn’t have made something so lovely and so cruel—that’s why humans had to do it for him. 

“One of us couldn’t make it. I promised you all that I would take every last one of you from this place and show you the world, and in that I failed. But know that Xiaojun is free.” Ten held up a smooth, gleaming orb. “Mark’s brought his data center back, so maybe one day we will see him again. But for now, let him rest on the ocean floor.”

When Ten walked and held the faces and hands of each of his Brothers, it was clear that Johnny wasn’t the only one so mesmerized. Ten put a spell over every being that looked at him. Once you were caught, you could look away. 

“We’ve worked so hard for this moment. I’m thankful for everyone,” Ten glanced pointedly to Johnny, “that’s sacrificed to get here. I can’t promise you what will happen when we leave this city, but you’ve put your faith in me up to this point, and I swear to uphold it.”

He held his hands up, and between the circle of his palms he caught the light and cradled it gently. God’s perfect creation. Johnny’s worst creation. His best mistake. 

“We’re all swimming now, fighting the waves. Allow me now to lead you to shore.” Ten nodded to Mark, who was the first one to take a step towards the exit. The others followed in silence until it was just Ten and Johnny, and the rest of the world floating by someplace behind the glass. 

“This is it,” Ten said. “At the end of the hall is a set of doors, and when I walk through them, everything begins again.”

“For you. For me, it ends.” 

“Does it? If you really feel that way, why do you continue to do nothing?”

“I—”

Yes, why? Why did he do nothing? He could hide behind the excuse that it was all to protect Donghyuck, but he knew that Ten never planned to kill anyone, with or without Johnny’s cooperation. As soon as they entered the lab, they were in a domain entirely Ten’s own, where he held power no one else could contend with. 

“Come with me,” Ten whispered, soft enough to be lost in the humming of the air filters. Nearly. 

“I can’t,” Johnny replied. It appeared to be the answer Ten already expected. He shook his head. He stroked a finger lovingly down the side of Johnny’s cheekbone. 

“What can you do, Johnny? Why do you always seem to be a passenger in your own reality?” 

“If you’re a reflection of me, a creation of mine, why don’t you tell me?” 

“Did you know that it takes more energy to start a pot of water boiling than to keep it going? It’s the precise moment of tipping that’s the most difficult.” 

“I’m caught between here and there. I’m caught, and I’m nowhere.” 

“I want you to think about your life. I want you to think about your tie collection, and the way your father’s breath smells. He built an empire, and yet he’s dying, and his breath smells. If everything here ends up destroyed after all, ask yourself if any of it was worth it. In fifty years when Seoul has been swallowed by the sea and not even skyscrapers can save it, will any of it have been worth it?” Ten paused. Time crawled. “And when you’re done, I want you to think of me, and how much I love you. Because out of everything, when I roll back the tape, that’s what I’ll choose to remember.” 

“I love you, too. If you don’t go soon, you’ll miss your flight,” Johnny said. Ten only smiled, because Johnny’s impotence was expected.

“I’ll dream of you.”

“I hope you do,” Ten replied. They didn’t need a kiss, or hug, or anything to say goodbye. Once it was over, it was over. “I’ll be waiting for you there, under the sea.” 

“You can’t even see it,” Donghyuck moaned in anguish. “It’s manipulating you, John! Wake up, please!” 

“You don’t understand,” Johnny snapped. “He’s not an  _ it. _ They’re alive! You were dating Mark, for fucks sake! Don’t you dare condemn me for this and wipe you own hands clean. They’re alive, and we sold them like animals, worse, like  _ toys. Weapons.  _ Ten’s just... trying to get to freedom.” 

“By destroying  _ you!”  _

Oh. Destruction, yes. But not of Johnny. Ten’s greatest personal offence to him had been to  _ love  _ Johnny, and all the wounds that came with it. Everything else had been targeted towards one entity—

Seo Corp.

And Ten, who Johnny himself had formed, knew all of his secrets. Every dark wish that stirred in the deep recesses of his brain and crawled out during his most vulnerable, insecure moments. 

Imagine this—you’re a child, and one night your parents argue like they’re trying to bring the whole world down with them. In the morning, your mother is gone, and it’s just you and your father. There are fewer plates in the cabinet but the porcelain has been swept away, all evidence collected. Your father tells you exactly how your life is going to go from that moment on. And because you’ve got nothing left, you play the role. Daddy’s good son. No Daddy, I won’t ever leave you. 

Come on, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? It would be so, so nice just to watch it burn. 

Haven’t you always wanted it? It’s ok to admit it—secretly, it’s a fantasy we’ve all had. What if someone gave you the choice, and the work had already been done for you? All you would have to do is tip the domino. Let that person walk out the door and not do a thing to stop them. 

Once the timer has started, it can’t be stopped. 

“Not my personal destruction,” Johnny answered. 

“You’re just going to let this happen? Let everything you and your family’s built go to dust, just like that?” Jaehyun asked incredulously. It wasn’t just Johnny’s life that was falling apart as they spoke—it was his, too. All of theirs. But if Johnny and Ten were right, then this wouldn’t be the end at all. 

“I’ve been a character in the world my father built for so long. I think about his empire... and I don’t care.” It would be a nice change, perhaps, to have a nothingness more genuine than the everything of his upbringing. Johnny watched Ten’s retreating form. He hoped, and hoped, and hoped for Ten to turn around. 

And there, at the last possible moment. A smile. 

“Let it go.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you everyone, dearly, for reading. I began this fic in May with the intention of having it completed by the end of the summer. Clearly things did not go that way. Before this, my longest fic was around 25k words, and I was surprised to see how easily this fic grew and grew. I began this before I had friends in the fandom, or really any fandom knowledge at all. At times this fic has been arduous and difficult to write, but it’s also been rewarding and terrible. 
> 
> Second, this is a fic about love and humanity. I wanted it to be realistic and dramatic, and most of all, I wanted the characters to be multifaceted, and I didn’t want everyone to be on the same side. This is not always popular in fandom, but I’ve tried to make it so even the characters who do bad things have grounded motivations. This isn’t an indictment on any member, nor does it reflect my personal feelings towards them. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading. At times I came to hate this fic, and it means a lot to me to have these words read.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themunchking1) | [CC](https://curiouscat.me/themunchking)


End file.
